Mass Effect owned by BioWare.
Aliens vs Predator owned by 20th Century Fox.
XXX
Sigurd's Cradle, Mil System
The Mothership entered the star system, bursting out of hyperspace and travelling on a direct course with the origin of the infamous distress signal. The Yautja ship was illuminated by the fifth planet orbiting the star, a red gas giant, as it drew closer to the signal.
The Mothership's scanners detected a large structure within the system's resident asteroid belt. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that the oomans' message was being transmitted from it. As the ship drew ever closer to the asteroid belt, three objects detached from their parent ship, making a beeline for the space station. Smaller and more maneuverable than the Mothership, the trio of Scout Ships deftly weaved through the asteroids tumbling through space. The parent craft swiftly cloaked itself, ensuring it would not be seen by prying eyes.
Soon enough, the three Yautja spacecraft caught sight of their quarry; the ugliness of the ooman structure was unmistakable. With the grace and precision of a squadron comprised of aces, the Scout Ships simultaneously approached and docked in one of the station's hangar bays. Now, the best of the Clan's warriors would begin their Hunt.
XXX
Normandy SR-2, Mil System
"Hey Joker, doesn't that station look like an upright snail?"
The Normandy's pilot stroked his beard, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in thought.
"… I can see it," he said after a few seconds.
"Shepard."
Shepard jumped a good few feet into the air, the sudden appearance of the ship's AI giving her a miniature heart attack. EDI took notice of the Commander's small panic attack.
"My apologies, Shepard. It was not my intention to startle you."
Shepard waved it off.
"No worries, EDI. I just have to pay better attention to my surroundings."
"You know, one would think a Council Spectre wouldn't get as easily spooked as you, Commander," Joker chimed in.
Shepard's only response was a mirthful glare.
"Anyway, EDI," Shepard said, turning back to the A.I.
"Back to what you originally wanted to tell me about."
"Your team is ready and waiting in the hangar."
Upon receiving this news, Shepard strode purposefully from the Normandy's cockpit with a quick "Thank you" to EDI. Passing the rows of crew members directly outside the helm, she made her way towards the elevator. A farewell from Yeoman Chambers filtered through the closing doors.
XXX
"Fashionably late, as always," commented Garrus as the lift disgorged the Commander.
"Hmph," murmured Grunt.
"As long as the upcoming fight doesn't leave me disappointed, I'll excuse the Battlemaster's tardiness."
Seeing as Shepard and her squad would have to cover a lot of ground while inside Zivos Station, she saw fit to include three more members on the mission. Among those were Justicar Samara, Mordin Solus, and…
"Miranda."
The Cerberus operative turned to regard her superior.
"Yes, Shepard?"
"I see you took me up on my recommendation," the red-haired Spectre said, gesturing to the black-and-gold body armor Miranda was clad in. The operative tilted her head in confusion.
"Which recommendation was that, again?" she asked.
"To wear actual protection," Shepard replied.
Miranda raised an eyebrow at Shepard's choice of words.
"… I know what I said."
"Ladies, ladies," Garrus stepped in.
"There's time for flirting after the mission."
"Shut up," both women replied at the same time.
XXX
The subsequent ride in the Kodiak shuttle was in silence, the previous light-hearted mood now non-existent as the six Normandy crew members prepared themselves for the mission. After being briefed on the nature of their task, Mordin seemed to be the only one excited. Well, him and Grunt, but for different reasons.
"Am interested to see what manner of "infestation" has taken hold of station. Very exciting! Potential for new species-," a sharp intake of air from the Salarian, "Intriguing."
Following Mordin's shattering of the silence that had taken hold of the shuttle, Shepard spoke up, going over their plan once more before they entered the station.
Their goal was to meet up and escort the surviving staff members back to the Normandy via the Kodiak; seeing as Zivos was a rather large construct, the team would save time by splitting up into two squads of three. Shepard would lead Samara and Grunt while Miranda would head the squad of Garrus and Mordin.
And so the shuttle's occupants divided into their squads as the Kodiak approached one of the several hangar bays along the station's "snail shell."
"I want everyone to be combat-ready as soon as we enter," Shepard said, everyone unholstering their weapons as the order was given.
The station's shadow cast by the distant star washed over the small shuttle, and through the hangar bay, Shepard and her team entered the belly of the beast.
XXX
Zivos Station
"This thing is like a damn ghost!"
"Spirits, just shoot it!"
"I don't see you doing any better, jackass!"
The Blue Suns maintaining the Mess Hall Chokepoint, as it had been dubbed, were in a state of chaos.
Trooper Jonathan Hazel, just 20 years of age, had been excited for his first job as part of the Blue Suns mercenary group. It had been his dream to join them ever since he was a boy; it might have been because of his dad, who was also a member, but Jonathan always thought the Suns were just so damn cool. In part to honor his late father's memory, and in part to feel the joy of seeing the galaxy on his own, he had signed himself up to join the Blue Suns.
Now he found himself within a waking nightmare.
As if it wasn't bad enough that the station had suffered an outbreak of monsters, those very same monsters had them surrounded and cut off from each other. The Suns didn't even have any escape craft available; they had been hired as security for the station, and if they needed transport they had to contact another Blue Suns outpost. Now, another problem had surfaced.
The bipedal alien had come bursting through the chokepoint's barricades and defenses. The same barricade that well over a dozen Xenomorphs had met their end behind. What's more, it just appeared; no extravagant reveal, no fanfare. Just a silent, highly-skilled killer that had materialized in their midst.
It seemed to shimmer in and out of existence, its every appearance marked with the spray of arterial blood as another trooper thudded into the ground. They couldn't even track it, much less hit it.
"Screw this! I'm getting out of here," one of the human troopers shouted. Before she could make an escape, a spear materialized in her spine, propelling her a short distance before she skidded to a stop, laying in a widening pool of red.
A Turian rushed straight towards the monstrous brute, attempting to utilize his shotgun's maximum potential. The monster easily sidestepped the blast, only a few pellets striking it on a patch of green, unprotected skin. It glanced down in annoyance at the luminescent green blood now dripping down its forearm before it retaliated, swiftly slicing off the Turian's arms with its extended wrist blades before silencing the screaming mercenary by cutting open his jugular.
As the monster had made painfully clear: it was better than them. Its attacks were too slow to activate their kinetic barriers, but powerful enough to do some serious damage. It carried itself as a warrior who has been in countless battles. The mercenary soldiers were simply outclassed.
A trooper to Jonathan's left gasped, falling backwards with a gaping wound the size of a dinner plate blown out of his chest. Jonathan and a trooper to his right fired everything they had at the monster that had killed their comrades, but it walked casually through the hail of bullets, seemingly uncaring at the wounds it sustained on its unarmored skin. The parts that were armored though, in other words all its vital areas, were completely protected by its armor.
The device on its left shoulder swiveled, aiming at another target as a red triangular targeting reticule appeared on Jonathan's comrade. In a moment's time, her head was reduced to a fine red mist.
In a room of two dozen Blue Suns mercenaries, Jonathan was the last one standing. He screamed obscenities at the monster that had killed his comrades, his friends. He screamed out all his rage, sorrow, and fear. He screamed because he knew that if he didn't, he'd either freeze up from paralyzing fear, or sob uncontrollably. He knew he was going to die here. There was no escaping it.
Then the monster was right in front of him. It slapped his assault rifle out his hands, no doubt glowering at him from behind its mask. Behind his own helmet, Jonathan's face was a mask of pure terror. The beast pulled back its fist, and struck him in the stomach. Jonathan gasped, falling away from his attacker.
Or, at least, he tried. Something was rooting him to the monster's fist. Even more curious was that he felt biting cold on his insides. Determined to find the root of this odd situation, Jonathan forced himself to look down. He frowned at the wrist blades sticking through his chest.
How did those get there, he wondered. It only punched me. I would have felt it impale me, right? He only felt a cold numbness.
The creature yanked its blades free, Jonathan slumping to his knees. The alien marched onwards, no longer interested in him. The cold feeling was spreading throughout his body, the epicenter of which being his wound. He tried to process what just happened.
"Jonathan… can you hear me, Jonathan?"
The mercenary looked up, searching for the voice's origin.
It sounds so familiar…
His eyes widened. His father was standing right in front of him. Jonathan frowned.
But how? He's dead.
"Looks like you overworked yourself again," his father said.
"You look exhausted. Here," he extended his hand.
"Let's get you to bed, shall we?"
This whole scenario reminded (minus the killer alien) him of his childhood. For a moment, just a moment, Jonathan pushed the events of the last five horrifying, blood-soaked minutes from his mind, and reached out his hand.
Jonathan Hazel breathed his last.
XXX
The Yautja that had been dubbed as "Ghost" by the Blue Suns in the mess hall, calmly cleaned his armaments, wiping the blood off his wrist blades with care. He retrieved his combi-stick from the corpse of the one who attempted to flee. Ghost didn't tolerate cowards. Unfortunately, none of the mercenaries he had encountered thus far had proven themselves worthy of being on his trophy wall. No matter. There were plenty of creatures on this station. And his and his hunt-brothers' mission wasn't over until there was nothing left alive. Only then could they return to their clan.