If this story seems familiar to you, that's because it is. Yes, it's me. Nobody has stolen anything. I'm back in the game, and hopefully for good.
WARNING: The following story contains...
Harsh language, graphic violence, overt sexual themes, depictions of loss, grief, trauma, post-traumatic stress, suicidal ideation, Limes, and at least one "Psuedo-Lemon". The door is open, should you wish to enter...
The main reason I wanted to write this story is because I have found most AvP stories on this site to be shoddy or shallow. You'll find that a lot of them seem to follow a very weird pattern. The human characters are way too trusting and forgiving, the Xenomorphs have little to no personality (which isn't difficult to portray, even in animals), and the Predators are always either complete bastards or big softies with no in-between being present— in other words: a planet of hats on every front.
I intend to fix this. And I'm going to do it while following all of the canon (and failing that: my headcanon), and explaining my reasonings about it, along the way.
For the sake of making myself perfectly clear: my policy on the canon of the Alien, Predator, and Aliens vs. Predator franchises is as follows:
"I don't care what Ridley Scott says, Alien and Predator are the same universe".
You might say that the original creator of Alien ought to be heeded, when he declares AvP non-canon. And I might believe you... if a bunch of authors weren't going right ahead and making official AvP novels, anyway. And making those novels while incorporating the plot-points of the film Prometheus, no less. The Fire and Stone comics, anyone? Where a Yautja infected by the Black Goo appears?
My perspective goes as follows: nothing is lost when you consider Alien and Predator to be the same universe. A lot of things are lost when you don't. There is everything to be gained in embracing it, and many great things to be lost in rejecting it. Especially when you factor in that many AvP stories far-outstrip either franchise in entertainment-value, flexibility of story-genre, and popularity.
20th Century Fox has seemingly gone out of its own way to avoid declaring anything to be canon, one way or the other, and even the "most canon" things in AvP often contradict each other (the only thing that Fox has gone out of its way to declare canon is the Aliens: Colonial Marines [2013] videogame, as far as I've been able to research).
For example: Scott declared the 2004 AvP film to not be in-line with his vision (in the context of the predecessor of Weyland-Yutani being called "Weyland Corp", rather than the "Weyland Industries" in the 2004 film), but in the canon "Happy Birthday, David" video, it's referred to as "Weyland Industries". The original script-writer for Prometheus, additionally, intended everything to be in-line with the 2004 AvP film, but Scott supposedly wasn't having it— which is odd since Prometheus kind of does stay in-line with AvP 2004, if you squint a little.
You might, finally, point to Alien: Covenant and declare AvP to be dead. I would respond that that hasn't stopped any official writers from continuing to write AvP comics and novels, in the wake of it. I would also contend that nothing in the film actually proves anything, one way or the other— we don't see David travel to LV-426, his "Praetomorphs" are very-blatantly physiologically-distinct from the Xenomorphs we know and love, and nowhere in Covenant is it shown how, why, or when the derelict ship in Alien landed on LV-426— we still don't know where that Engineer who was Chestbursted came from.
Furthermore: the novelization of Covenant has David mention that he created his Praetomorphs based on the fossilized remains of actual Xenomorphs, created by the Engineers years earlier, which honestly makes a lot more sense than him just pulling the Xenomorphs out of his ass like it's no biggie— this is contradicted in the film, but far from irreconcilable with it. The written prequel to Covenant ("Origins"), reinforces the novelization of the film on this subject.
Overall: I heavily dislike what Covenant tried to do. I say "tried", because it had to be explained to me some weeks later that the film (apparently?) meant AvP isn't a thing. The fact that it had to be explained, afterward, showcases how poor of a job the film did at solidifying its retcon. Because despite how "heavily implied" it is that David created the Xenomorphs, I came away from the film not thinking "damn, guess AvP is dead"— I came away thinking: "huh. Wonder what'll happen to David and his mongrel, off-brand Xenos?".
Because, really: if you interpret Alien: Covenant and its intentions as wholly canon, the Alien franchise becomes a Hell of a lot more lame. Not only are the Predator films left out of the equation, but it severely degrades the image of the Xenomorphs.
Before Covenant: "the Xenomorphs are this mysterious, El Dorado-esque phenomenon that attracted and destroyed everyone it came into contact with; where did they come from? How many of them are there in the galaxy? For what purpose were they created by the Engineers and why do they seem designed to target humans? What the Hell even are they— they violate so many rules of nature and physics!"
After Covenant: "oh, yeah, the Xenomorphs were just a one-off lab-experiment made by this one guy, in his messy dorm-room. And the guy who made them was a sexually-repressed Android with a God-Complex, who was consumed by an edgy high-schooler level of childish misanthropy, and thinks he's a lot cleverer than he actually is. How many Xenomorphs are there, in the galaxy? Duh, I dunno— a few thousand, I guess? Who cares— most of them are dead, anyway lol".
The newest comic-book line, from Marvel, released directly after Covenant showcases a fair few new concepts that contradict it, too. A lot. Concepts such as Xenomorphs being a primordial force of galactic "purification"— causing all sapient species that come into contact with the Xenomorphs to seek to weaponize them at the cost of their destruction, or assimilate into them at the cost of their souls. And those comics are, presumably, as canon as it gets.
So, evidently, 20th Century Fox gives precisely zero fucks about what Ridley Scott intends for the franchise that he hadn't played any hand in for 33 years before Prometheus.
Other than that: I have a bone to pick with Alien: Resurrection, and I do not believe it to be a suitable sequel to Alien 3. Resurrection is… I simply find it cringe, really. It's an incredibly bizarre film, with bizarre ideas of how science works, and a bizarre story-structure that leads nowhere and creates nothing, nor does it lay the groundwork for anything worthwhile. Winona Ryder was hot, I guess. And Kim Flowers had a nice ass. But the rest of it is… forgettable.
I took some inspiration for the story you're about to read from "The Guardian" by IluthraDanar, so don't be surprised if there are some references or inside jokes here and there.
Without further ado…
Prologue
Hidden deep within the records of the many Colonial Marine Corps "briefing" and "debriefing" reports, one will notice that many of these files are of conflicts that took place on the planet "Guardian-625", or "GD-625". Guardian-625 is a world located about two parsecs Rimward-Spinward from Altaïr, by the way. This wouldn't be odd, were it not for just two minor details. The first being, that Guardian-625 happens to be a planet sprawling with thousands of extremely large cities, the occasional lush, green forests, and — oh, yes — it also serves as a garrison and headquarters for about half of all the Colonial Marine Regiments in much of explored space, as a part of the United Americas Allied Command's newest directive to strengthen their presence outside of Sol and increase the military's galactic reach.
As such, there are about three-hundred major military bases and staging-areas — all veritable fortresses, in themselves — pockmarked across Guardian's surface. One wouldn't think that terrorists, separatists, pirates, nor Proggy spies, (a fairly common occurrence in these times) would go about their less-than-reputable business, let alone attack anything on such a heavily fortified planet. And this is where things become even more strange. The alleged "hostiles" that were engaged by Colonial Marine forces were not any sort of "cabal", or unlawful cartel. In fact, the enemy was not human, at all.
The hostile presence on Guardian was, in truth, a hive of the infamous creatures known as "Xenomorphs". Specifically, the species officially labeled as "Xenomorph XX121". Yes, the same monstrous species rumored to have caused the incident on Acheron. This would certainly explain why the list of conflicts on Guardian is noticeably longer than that of any wild animal infestation. About three-hundred times longer. It would also explain the especially high mortality rate that would come to be reported throughout this infestation.
Because of the chaos of the Xenomorph infestation on Guardian, and many other (soon to be discovered) ones, the Xenomorph species has been readily compared to a form of plant life on Earth called "weeds". "Constantly popping up where they aren't wanted, and never going away".
Guardian's infestation of Xenomorphs had many causes, each feeding into and contributing to one another, although the primary source of it remains unknown to this day. It had all begun about a year prior, with the Three World Empire mega-corporation Weyland-Yutani purchasing a particularly long list of property-rights and deeds in one of Guardian's mega-cities— Dimidirupt. This included private residences, numerous docking bays, warehouses, restaurants, storefronts, and other such things. Over the course of little more than a few months, the corporation contracted an extensively expensive set of construction efforts in and around these properties. The ultimate result was the creation of one of the largest warehouses on all of Guardian, in which Weyland-Yutani began using themselves and leasing out storage-space to any and all buyers. In particular, the United Americas Allied Command and its Colonial Marines logistics divisions.
All seemed well and good, and Weyland-Yutani profited greatly. However, the trouble soon began in February of 2182, with a shipping manifest registered by the Dimidirupt Transport and Trade Administration (DTTA) of a potentially biohazardous package having been delivered to "General Cargo Bay 13, Holloway Municipality of Dimidirupt City Commercial District".
The shipping manifest had to be chewed over by the DTTA's bureaucracy because despite citing no sender, no names or organizations, and despite containing multiple clerical errors: the manifest was accepted and approved by the DTTA desk-jockeys assigned to Cargo Bay 13. All attempts by the DTTA to follow up on this were fruitless, as no response could be elicited before the package in question had already been shipped off to a local, government-funded biolab in the next District over.
The DTTA had sent an inquiry to this biolab about the package, but a response would never come. Later investigations would reveal that those who had been working in the lab when the package arrived had been about to clock out for the week, in any case, and had only accepted the package at the last minute, with a bribe of around a year's worth of pay. When questioned about whom had given said bribe, they only reported it was a man calling himself "Peter Pilate", and hadn't presented any ID.
Where things finally escalated was when, three days later, an anonymous report was filed with Dimidirupt City's Department of Contagion and Health Safety. An anonymous tip or report would have been slow to be looked into were it not for the report being the type exclusively filed by the biolab in question, to report an accident. What precisely the contents of the report were, and what it contained, isn't known: but whatever it held, it sent all of Dimidirupt City Hall into a blind panic, and the issue was immediately kicked upward to the nearest UACMC emergency response office. From there, a general emergency was called, as the UAAC had reason to believe that a Xenomorph infestation was brewing.
It may have seemed extreme to an observer, but the CMC's sudden pang of paranoia would turn out to be the correct call, in the end. And Guardian was a project years in the making— a widespread contagion or ground war was absolutely unacceptable. Evacuation and emergency messages were promptly announced to the general public, to be broadcasted continuously until the issue could be resolved in some way.
Predictably, the massive cities of GD-625 began to panic. Until this point, "Xenomorphs" were myth and speculation. There were always stories, of course— rumors and conspiracy theories. All anyone had to go on were the legends and "campfire stories" that were, quite frankly, largely inaccurate and sensationalist. No one really knew what to expect from this kind of threat, but seeing as though the government and military found it a big enough emergency to announce it, outright, was enough. And thus, over three-quarters of the planets' population was ready to get the Hell out of dodge, and leave.
Almost immediately, the local Marine brass were making plans. The original course of action was to ensure that Dimidirupt was wholly evacuated, and then detonate as many tactical, nuclear explosives as was needed to reduce the city to melted slag. Intelligence from the higher-ups indicated that this was the only appropriate response to the notion of a Xenomorph incursion, much to the bafflement of the lower NCOs and Lieutenants who were stationed locally.
However, due to reasons that were very conveniently "stricken from the records", the UACMC postponed their plans. We may not know the particular reason why, but it is said that Weyland-Yutani, had a hand in the development.
That Weyland-Yutani funds a large proportion of the Colonial Marine Corps — almost 37% of the Corps' overall income, in fact — is probably why Wey-Yu's officials were in any way involved in the decision-making at this stage. Not to mention the fact that Wey-Yu also owned a lot of the various buildings and businesses in this particular area of Guardian. The CMC, of course, filed with the Three World Empire to nullify Weyland-Yutani's concerns, in the face of the situation.
Unfortunately, the wheels of bureaucracy are a tedious and unhurried process to slog through, and by the time the Corps could recommence their plans, it was speculated that the Facehugger inside the rouge Xeno Egg had, probably, already found a Host. Indeed, rumors and reports of kidnappings and attacks were already springing up in and around Dimidirupt from those few people who had chosen to remain in the city. It was then several days before the USCM could decisively confirm that there was, indeed, a "Queen Xenomorph" on Guardian (the location of which unknowable). Squads of Marines had begun to report encountering and engaging large groups of "bugs", proving that the Xenomorph Hive, and thus the Infestation, was well underway.
At this point: any possibility of safely containing the situation was dead. Matters proceeded to escalate in size and frequency, exponentially.
In less than a week, the infestation spread to massive proportions; overwhelming all opposition, and resulting in over eighty square kilometers of buildings, complexes, parks, schools, hospitals, civilian domiciles, and numerous Colonial Marine facilities being swarmed and taken by alien beasts. Two and a half cities, New Scena, Dimidirupt, and Tenvis, swiftly became Xenomorph territory, with repeated attacks and skirmishes threatening to push the Hive's borders further and further.
Once again, the option of utilizing nuclear weaponry and explosives to quell the infestation was a viable option and a distinct likelihood. Data-projections showed that if the Hive spread any further, the chances of even containing the swarm would quickly deplete to near-zero percent. However, in what is one of the most debated and controversial decisions to this day, plans were inexplicably changed, once again! By Weyland-Yutani, no less! Except now there was an official reason given as to why.
Within the Xenomorph Hive Territory (XHT), there existed an excessively large stockpile of Colonial Marine weapons, armor, ammunition, explosives, munitions, and vehicle parts. This stockpile held a rather sizable amount of the Colonial Marines' arsenal and resources within the solar system. This was the very same massive warehouse that Wey-Yu had built a year earlier. According to CMC leaders, this would not have mattered, or even played a factor, were it not for the technicality of a up to a third of this stockpile being made and owned by Weyland-Yutani. It being Wey-Yu's property, made this a decision that Weyland-Yutani had every right to play a part in. And Wey-Yu already a proposal of how to handle it.
It was with great reluctance that the Colonial Marine officials signed a legal agreement with Weyland-Yutani called: "The Joint-Quarantine Protocol". This "treaty" stated that Colonial Marine forces, as well as Weyland-Yutani-funded mercenaries, would endeavor to set up a quarantine blockade circling the Xenomorph Hive. The amount of assets and resources poured into this effort is utterly staggering. All manner of military vehicles— anything from quad bikes to APCs, to Dropships were given patrol paths circumnavigating the Hive; every kind of heavy infantry soldier you could think of: Smartguns, Wey-Yu's Flame-Unit troopers, weaponized power-loaders, chain-gun-wielding Mech-Suits, SADAR Troopers — even Sentry Guns on wheels, according to some rumors — were posted to stand guard in regular patterns along the front lines. Every single available weapon barrel was promptly pointed straight at the Hive.
All of this, mind you, was set up after clearing away hundreds of buildings, public property, foliage, and streets for space— digging trenches, and pitching electric fences; not to mention building hundreds of camps for soldiers to stay in along the outside of the blockade. And all of it was accomplished while swarms of Xenomorph Warriors repeatedly stormed the Colonial Marine's and Weyland-Yutani's front-lines.
The Joint-Quarantine Protocol, from then on, would remain in effect until the two organizations could retrieve the valuable property from within the Hive, without destroying it in the process. A nearly impossible task, mind you, considering the Xenomorph swarm was estimated to be over 70,000 strong in numbers by this point; but if getting this over with meant that the CMC could go right ahead and nuke the Hive afterwards, then they were all for it.
Though, you can be certain that "we want our guns back" was definitely not going to be what was told to the public, as to why the quarantine had been set up. And they certainly weren't going to allow any information about The Joint-Quarantine Protocol be released to the public, either. One can only imagine the sheer extent of the Guardian citizenry's indignation. Although, they'd have had every right to be pissed off.
No, "there could be survivors of the infestation" and "we are doing our best to get loved ones out of there alive" were perfectly good explanations. And it was at least half the truth.
After the blockade was constructed, and the Colonial Marine Corps was confident in the strength of the quarantine's barrier, officials gave the "all clear" and said that the threat was under control. Naturally, due to some skepticism, multiple news channels were contracted to begin showing footage of how secure the quarantine was, and Guardians-625's population began slowly returning to the planet.
A month later, most of Guardian could sleep easy, knowing that their loyal soldiers were holding the line. As expected, recruitment rates shot upwards as the Colonial Marine Corps advertised the fact that they would need more people to sign up. Now more than ever. After all, good Marines were dying everyday as they protected Guardian's people, and the Corps needed more brave souls for the job.
What no one bothered to mention or think about was the possibility that by locking the Xenomorphs inside their own Hive, and ordering soldier after soldier inside to prosecute the war-effort… they were ostensibly only providing the Hive with more food, more Hosts, and more time. Not only were the Colonial Marine–Wey-Yu alliance ordering their soldiers to stand against an enraged swarm of "Xenos" daily, but they were also staging missions to send entire platoons directly into the heart of the Hive itself. While they were doing this for multiple amenable reasons, including the rescue of survivors… it wasn't necessarily helping.
To face one Ebony Demon in combat is already a daunting task, but to fight an endless horde of them inside their Hive, in their element, and on their terms is, well...
Just plain suicide.
The only thing the allied organizations were accomplishing was, at best, limiting the growth of the Hive… and, at worst, they were nurturing it. Xenomorph Warriors may not have been spreading across the face of Guardian-625 like a pestilence, right now, but the presence of a Hive was no less of a threat to life on Guardian, than it was while the quarantine hadn't been initiated.
In the many, many conflicts against the Aliens, like these, both in the past and future… there are a few painful truths that we, as humans, must understand.
The species, "Xenomorph XX121", is not a simple contagion to be eradicated nor an enemy to be routed, killed, or captured… but an unstoppable force of nature. Not just because of their physical and numerical strengths, but also the purity of their motives and how tirelessly they cut down anything that stands in their way.
A Xenomorph doesn't carewhat humans are capable of or how smart we are— it doesn't care how many people it or its brethren kill. It doesn't care who you are, what you've done, or what you hope to do. It has no regard for human pretentions of morality, it gives no thought to the issue of having been surrounded on all sides nor being under threat of extinction, and most of all: it gives not one solitary damn how outnumbered or outgunned it supposedly is. The only thing a Xenomorph is ever concerned about is that their Queen is safe, that the Hive grows, and that the prey dies! And a Xenomorph will thoughtlessly give its life to accomplish those goals.
It is this sheer lack of concern, curiosity, or compassion for anythingbeyond its own kind and their utterly goal-oriented mindset, that has revealed one frightening fact.
No matter how many of them you put down, no matter how many people you save from them, no matter whether or not you live to see another day, and not matter your tactical or strategic advantages...
... The Aliens. Always. Win.
Day One of Infestation — 19th of February, 2182 A.D, Earth Standard Time
Mr. Aidan Orinko, a short, black-haired man, strolled down one of a myriad mess of hallways in New Scena City's Industrial District. The dim, yellow lighting, red-painted wall and ceiling pipes, as well as the dark bronze and brown, metallic walls, floors, and ceilings indicated this place was one of commerce and production. The Industrial District of New Scena was the hub for manual labor. Technology, construction, industrial planning, that sort of thing. Making this the everyday workplace for around thirty-thousand men and women— half of that, from the neighboring cities of Dimidirupt, and Tenvis. Except, today was Sunday and thus most, if not all, of the businesses and corporations in the Industrial District were closed. Allowing their workers a day off.
Aidan wasn't supposed to be here. Well, really, there was no law about it, but traversing through the Industrial District on a Sunday was only freely permitted to business-owners and executives and the like. Theft was a very large concern around these parts.
He walked with a swift, calm pace, with a rather large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He wore a brown jacket, blue t-shirt, and jeans. Despite his average looking face, and attire, there was still an aura, or way about Aidan that would cause you to be guarded around him. Objectively, there wasn't very much to be intimated by, nothing that would immediately say "danger". Yet, people who saw him could always detect a certain… "thing"— a history behind the way Aidan's eyes would always meticulously scan everything in the room before he did anything. A clue in the way that he would always check behind his shoulder he walked around a corner.
Not to mention the fact that he rarely seemed to shave and had a tiny scar on the left side of his jaw. His skin was also significantly more tan than most residents of Guardian, and given his alleged occupation, one wouldn't think he would receive that much sunlight. You'd constantly have the feeling that, when it came to Mr. Orinko, it would be wise to be wary of him. And to place your trust in someone else if the time came.
At the moment, as far as anyone cared to know, Aidan was on his way to the New Scena space-port to catch an inter-stellar flight to some, obscure, tropical planet for a vacation. Indeed, Aidan was intending to go abroad, yet, he didn't have to go anywhere near the Industrial District to get there. Well, you could, but not on a Sunday. In truth, Aidan wasn't concerned about not having a "hall pass"— not while he was in a hurry; and besides, he would have a lot more to lose if he didn't trespass through here. The Industrial District was his shortcut, and he was going to take it.
As he walked passed the entrance of a restaurant — chairs stacked on tables with the lights off — a large, ceiling-mounted megaphone clicked on, and made a high-pitched, deafening keen. The government of the province of Leprosum, consisting of the cities New Scena, Dimidirupt, Tenvis, Negal, and Aspernal, used this province-wide speaker-system to make pubic-service announcement and emergency warnings. And it seemed that Leprosum was about to make a Province-wide address. A single tone indicated this, whereas two or three tone in a certain rhythm would indicate something else, entirely.
Aidan's brow creased in confusion, as he continued walking. The first and second bi-monthly announcements had already been made, there wasn't supposed tobe another until another week had passed. Extra or unexpected announcements almost always meant trouble or some sort of an inconvenience. His hand fiddled with the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder. He sincerely hoped that none of the scheduled space-port flights would be delayed or canceled, for some reason. He'd be in the shitter, if his flight was.
He listened closely, as did everyone else in Leprosum, at that moment.
When the announcement began, the first thing Aidan noticed was that it wasn't the same person that was always heard on the "PSA-Phone" — the British-accented Nigel Williams — instead it was a monotone-voiced "nobody". It was most certainly a middle-aged man with an extremely odd-sounding, almost computerized voice that resembled those from "crisis warnings" in the 20-21st century. Perhaps a Synthetic?
You could practically feel everyone in Leprosum hold their breath. Something was deeply wrong. Nigel had been Leprosum's announcer for the better part of 20 years— somewhat of an icon, at this point. The only time anyone had ever replaced him was if an outbreak of a major disease had occurred. The kinds of diseases that are ancient — from more than a century ago — temperamental and especially virulent. Well… either that or some industrial-size, cold-fusion generator in some obscurely-located place was malfunctioning, and everyone had to vacate the immediate area before the thing exploded… not that that had ever actually happened, before.
As the disturbingly bland-sounding voice drawled on… well… needless to say, the news came as a bit of a shock. Aidan stopped walking and his face contorted into one of utter bewilderment— he could have sworn that this announcer had just said that there was a "Xenomorph Egg" in New Scena...
...
…a Xenomorph Egg. Next thing Aidan knew, in his shock, the mystery-person continued on, recommending that everyone in Leprosum leave their homes and either utilize an emergency USCM "lifeboat" to get off planet, or migrate to an out-of-province city.
Almost too soon, the announcement ended, and Aidan blinked, his expression troubled. He let out a breath through his nose, and gazed down at the metal, dark bronze-colored floor. Like all other people on Guardian, Mr. Orinko had always believed that the concept of "Xenomorphs" was either the result of an exaggerated encounter with some other obscure alien creature, or that it was simply the rampant imagination of some feverishly-insane pillock that needed therapy. You would need therapy after coming up with that kind of nightmare-fuel.
When someone said the word "Xenomorph", it was perfectly clear that they could very well be referring to any alien species that hadn't yet been fully described and documented by science. It was just a fancy way of saying "alien", and was used by science to assign a number and letter code to any alien specimen that had yet to be fully examined. But, in the modern galaxy's zeitgeist and common vernacular, the word had become tentatively synonymous with the species known as "Xenomorph XX121". Admittedly, there was barely any publicly-available information on what XX121 was, only that it was "extremely dangerous"— but legends and stories had always been spread from colony to colony.
Guardian's populace was not, and never had been, particularly privy to such reportedly-widespread rumors of demonic monsters, like this. But… now that an official source had, rather blatantly, made it known that "yes, Xenomorphs are real, and they're here"… Aidan was… stunned, really.
So… if Xenomorphs are real, and they're in New Scena… then that meant that people would be panicking. And if they're panicking, then a lot of people would be trying to leave. At this thought, Aidan visibly stiffened. That meant that almost everyone in New Scena would be buying tickets for off-world transportation. The space-ports will be packed, full of desperate people, and Aidan would most definitely miss his flight to Charge-3. Aidan began walking again, at a much quicker pace, almost jogging. He could not afford to be late. Not now.
You see, the people of Leprosum don't typically know Aidan by his true name. Most, including the local authorities, recognize him as "Mathew Doberman". A pharmacist with a degree in chemistry. If Aidan had the choice, he'd have gone by his own name and his own profession. But, unfortunately for him, the decision was never his to make. In fact, he didn't have a say in a lot of things, as of late, not even where he could live or work.
For over a year, now, broad swaths of Aidan's life were being dictated by a narcotic-mongering crime lord, named "Felix". Felix and his lackey's had been dead-set on corrupting Guardian with the disease of debauchery and drug-use for 5 years, now. They had never been very successful and when Aidan accidentally discovered Felix's gang... well, they couldn't miss out on the opportunity to take advantage of him and use him as a puppet.
For over four-hundred days, Aidan Orinko had been discreetly serving as a drug distributor, manufacturer, and a general "tool" to Felix. If he refused to go through with the various "jobs" assigned to him, or made a mistake, his remaining family in Tenvis would pay the price. Even now, his "vacation" was actually a "business venture" to one of Guardian's four moons, Charge-3, to deliver the drugs he had in the duffel bag… which he was currently carrying to an "associate". The substance was a foul, orange powder called "Buzzz", always spelt with three Z's, because of course it was. Apparently, it gave the user a powerful hallucinogenic episode. A fairly recent invention. Aidan had never asked why Felix would want drugs taken to a moon, but then again, he didn't really care to know nor find out.
He just wanted to get to Charge quickly, get this over with and then go back home to live in peace for the next week, or so. He needed to get to the space-ports. Fast. And that meant he would have to take an even quicker shortcut through one of the many government-sanctioned Science Labs of the Industrial District in order to expedite his… departure.
Though, now that he thought of it, would he even have a home by the time this was done? There was a Xenomorph outbreak going on, apparently, and if even half of the stories about XX121 were true, then Guardian would be a wasteland by the time three nights had passed. For a split-second, even as he continued to speed-walk down the hall, he considered that this may be his one and only opportunity to get out from under Felix's thumb. Should he just run? Get back to his family in Tenvis and make a break for Aurore-510?
... but... knowing Felix, he'd probably insist that more work could still be done, despite the "infestation". Orinko chose to get this job done and see what else happened, afterwards.
Aidan approached the glass paneled door to the laboratory. The door itself stuck out like a sore thumb at the end of the copper/brown hallway— being light-gray, sterile-looking, and partly see-through; with a small, blue plaque on the wall beside it that read: "Arosquama Laboratory of Biological Studies", in white letters. Aidan had only been to one of the one-hundred twenty-one sci-labs of the Industrial District— twice. The first: to forge a few names and addresses into the ledger that one of the head scientists kept — one of Felix's odd-jobs — and the second: to find a schematic of the general area, as well as to identify the vent that led into a certain storage closet… so he could easily procure the "ingredients" he needed to manufacture more Buzzz.
Both of these occasions had been on illegal terms, and in a completely different laboratory than the one that Aidan needed to cut through, now. Aidan had never been in this one, nor had he ever heard of "Arosquama", but according to the same schematic he had stolen from 8 months before, this one had two entrances, was the largest lab in the Industrial District, and was the quickest path to the space-ports.
As Aidan reached for the handle on the door, it vaguely occurred to him that the entire lab was pitch black, and there appeared to be no one inside. However, in his rush, Aidan didn't take this into account and strolled right in. Neither did he take into account the flashing warning-lights in the walls in his path, nor how the door before him required force to open and hissed upon doing so as though releasing air-pressure. Such was his rush to simply get where he needed to go that he even failed to account for the fact that he couldn't see a bloody thing, and ended up walking straight into the nearest, crotch-high corner of a desk. Aidan grunted, and bit his tongue to stop from yelling as he stumbled backwards, and dropped to his knees. He idly dropped his duffel bag off to one side and spent the next two minutes breathing heavy through gritted teeth.
He did not want to alert anyone to his presence with cries of pain. Despite the fact that the entire place seemed deserted, the risk was enough incentive. Going to prison for trespassing on private property was not a very appetizing option, at the moment. Thus, these were the hardest one-hundred-twenty seconds of his life— trying to keep his mouth shut when all he wanted to do was scream.
It would have been lower on his over-all list of hardships, were it not for his impending doom less than five more minutes from now.
As the crippling pain finally died down, Aidan got back up to his feet, and bent over to pick up his duffel bag. He was about to sling it over his shoulder, when it occurred to him that he still couldn't see anything. He dropped to one knee, lowered the bag to the floor, and began rummaging through it. He was fairly certain he had packed a flashlight in there, somewhere.
As Aidan was still struggling to find the flashlight — buried under about thirty bags of narcotics — he was completely unaware of what was skittering about in the dark corners of the room. Beneath tables and chairs— creeping around the legs of the furniture. Hiding. Waiting. Watching. A creature — small — beige-ish, off-white skin, eight, finger-like legs, and a segmented tail that flicked this way and that; as the tiny monster continued to observe its oblivious prey. Its soft, silicone skin pulsed and shifted around its brittle bones.
Despite its un-impressive appearance, this unassuming organism presented a more-than-credible threat. Not just to the lone human it was stalking, but also, to every other living being on Guardian. This monster -—"spawn of Satan", "evil incarnate" — was the potential beginning of something terrible. Something horrific. This creature — barely any larger than a food platter — represented a future of utter chaos, bedlam, and unprecedented amounts of death and carnage. This parasite, small as it was, amounted to the organic equivalent of a volcano just waiting to explode. To erupt in a flood of destruction and death. And all it would take... was for one person — for one living thing — to be in the wrong place... at the wrong time.
And Aidan had made the mistake of being that someone...
Aidan's attention was suddenly drawn to his left by the sound of a chair scraping noisily across the tile floor. It was sudden— quick. As he had just found it, and turned it on, his first impulse was to immediately wave the flashlight in the direction of the sound. The light cast long, eerie shadows across the floor, straight to the other side of the room, and created an ominous, shifting kaleidoscope across the floor. Another noise — a hollow click — to his right, this time, met his ears. As Mr. Orinko continued frantically scanning left and right with his torch, his mind had been at work. These were the kinds of situations that people talk about when they mention "hairs standing on end", true suspense. Memories flooded his mind— he hadn't felt something quite like this since he was a small child. He wasn't even certain why he felt this way.
His breath was shallow and loud as each inhale and exhale forced itself through his flared nostrils. It felt like his skin was literally crawling. Chills and shivers ran up and down his spine. His hands and feet suddenly felt ice cold. His knees — one of which he was kneeling on — were shaking, as he felt every urge to run. He was quickly beginning to sweat. His scalp and the back of his neck tingled. All the while, the primal, unreasonable parts of his mind had taken over, and were rapidly thinking of all the possibilities. Mentally grasping at an uncountable amount of straws— trying to make sense of what it didn't know. He imagined everything from a drunk scientist shambling into view, to a horrific abomination creeping out of the shadows. His thoughts and impulses felt like they were screaming at him. For the first time in his life Aidan was truly afraid.
He may not have known what had made the noise, and he knew it could have easily been something negligible. But that's the thing. He didn't know. The fact that he had no idea what lay beyond terrified him. The fact that anything could jump out and say "here I am!" was what was kicking his brain into overdrive. And as every second past, the fear only got worse and worse. Something had to have made that sound! It couldn't be "nothing"! Something was there! That was the only thing that could have made a chair move, or — what sounded like — something tapping against metal! He knew for a fact that there was something in the room with him! But he didn't know where it was, or who it was, or what it was! What could possibly be there!? In the dark!? Watching!?
A noise pierced the deafening silence. A stack of papers falling to the floor. His bodily convulsed, jumping to his feet with a yelp. A pathetic whimper-groan of terror escaped Aidan's throat. His thoughts screamed at him—
Where is it!? Who is it!? What is it!? What's in this room with me!? I am not alone in here! I am not alone in here! I am not alone in here! THERE'S SOMETHING HERE! THERE'S SOMETHING HERE! THERE'S SOMETHING HERE! THERE'S SOMETHING HERE—
Two minutes of utter, deafening silence passed, as he stood completely frozen. Just as he thought he might have been imagining something, just as his heart began to slow— the sound of something scrambling across a table and glass shattering against the floor were the last things that Aidan's mind processed. Just as his flashlight locked onto where the ruckus had originated, the final image his eyes saw, was of the underside of a Face-Hugger leaping towards him.
The creature had been slightly off its mark. Instead of Aidan's face, the blur of beige struck him in the neck and upper torso. Aidan, partly from his own legs locking up in fright, and partly from the force of the creature's pounce, and fell onto his back with a yelp. His flashlight went sailing out of his hand, and hit the wall behind him, breaking. Before he could spare a thought, the Face-Hugger jumped onto his head, like an angry mask, blinding and silencing him. It was not long before he fell into suffocation-induced unconsciousness. All was left eerily silent, save for the small chirps and tiny growls of the parasite… as it set to work on its life's purpose.
Barely a day later and not too far away, a man sat upon a bar-stool, tracing the rim of an empty glass with his fingertip. The barman wiped the wooden countertop with a rag. Dim lights suffused the deserted bar-restaurant hybrid with a moody, golden glow. The man on the stool wore a knee-length, white coat, and on the green sweater he wore underneath: a Weyland-Yutani name-tag presented itself. He lazily dumped six more coins onto the counter and pushed them to join the pile of a few dozen, to his left. The barman shrugged and took the empty glass, filling it with cheap beer from a hose-tap.
The Wey-Yu drunkard took the glass presented to him, downed half of it in one swig, set it down, and dropped his head onto the countertop with a sigh.
"You good there, mate?", the barman asked.
The man dragged his head upward, unable to meet the man's gaze, and stared into his beverage as though it might become a crystal ball.
"No", he responded, "And I don't think I will ever be good, ever again…".
The barman raised a brow, at that. The lab coat had stumbled into Mondo's Boots four hours ago, just as last call was made. He'd allowed the man to stay on the condition that drinks would be at twice the normal charge, and he'd had done nothing but drink and occasionally cry silently into his sleeve. The guy was clearly dealing with some nasty demons, and he wasn't a therapist, nor was he being paid to be one. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what exactly could make a Wey-Yu lab-spook look this sad and broken.
"Well", the barman said, "everybody has one of those moments, in life".
Wey-Yu man downed the other half of the beer, and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling with a blank, lost look. The barman continued wiping the onyx countertop, mentioning, "I'll have to close up shop for real, in a bit, by the way".
The lab-spook sighed and seemed to nod to himself. "How much have I paid?", he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and fumbling with a wallet.
"Seventy-four", he replied.
Wey-Yu man thumbed out a number of bills and slapped them onto the countertop. The barman raised a brow — a thirty-percent tip — and scooped up the money with a thanks. Lab-coat man stumbled to his feet and adjusted his collar, asking "you got a family, at home?".
"Not especially. None who want anything to do with me, at any rate".
"Hm. Well, then. I'll pray that you can reconcile with them, at some point".
The barman looked up with a bemused look at the sentiment... but then his eyes shifted to the side with a frown, staring passed the customer. First squinting, then with a widening gaze and gape, before he stepped backward. Wey-Yu man hiccuped, and turned to see what the matter was, and promptly froze.
The beast that had apparently found its way into the bar without either of them noticing stood crouched atop the pool table in the center of the room. It seemed to be frozen like them, though for entirely different reasons. Its eyeless face peered at them like a gothic statue, lips beginning to peel back with a rising hiss.
The Weyland-Yutani scientist breathed deeply and reached into his pocket, eyes darting to the two exits at either side of the bar-room. He hadn't expected this so soon— not here. Was this karma? Divine punishment? Had it sought him out, specifically?
Not a whisper of sound met an ear in that room. For mere moments, and for eternity, all were immobile. The beast's head tilted ever so slightly to one side. A tail like demonic chain-links undulated behind it...
The barman abruptly turned and sprinted to one side, making a break for the door to the kitchen. In a heartbeat, before he'd made it four paces, a bolt of black launched itself seven meters across the room and struck him down— a howl like screeching tires and rumbling diesel preceded the barman's screams of anguish.
The scientist slowly stepped away, as the barely-concealed carnage played out before his eyes. The beast was faster than he'd ever imagined. Faster than anything that large should be. He knew that trying to run would only attract its attention, and so he crept toward the main entrance. But his eyes were glued to the sight of it mauling his short-time compatriot. Such grace, such power. Such singular purpose and fury. As the cries and moans of the barman dwindled to silence, and the creature stilled, the Weyland-Yutani man had just managed to open the exit door behind him. He deftly slid out and let the door close on its own. He turned briskly power-walked away, knowing full well that his chances of escape were minimal, and when an inhuman roar met his ears: he started to sprint.
Thundering stomps shook through the floors and walls as he ran. His senses left him, and when an iron grip seized the back of his head, the light faded from his eyes...
Day Four of Infestation — 22nd of February, 2182 A.D, Earth Standard Time
The Worker was alone.
Alone.
No Mother to speak of. No adults, at all. No one. She was alone.
That which approximated her first thoughts upon emerging from her Host were to seek a Mother in the great web for guidance. When she couldn't sense one, she probed for the presence of any other adults of her kind. But there were no adults— no others of her kind, at all. No great mind to seize, no mental web to touch. No line of communication, at all. No Hive.
She was caught in a state of pure disbelief. No Mother? No family? No Hive? How? How is there no Hive? A brief state of panic took the young Worker's mind, although it did not last long. A specific set of impulses and desires, along with an uncontrollable urge to oblige them, took over in short order. Find Hosts. Capture Hosts. Create Hive. Molt. Create Hive. Molt. Capture Hosts. Hive. Spread. Build. Molt. Hive. Hive.
She would build a new Hive— she would have to molt and grow. She would become the first Mother of this world. And it would be pleasing, indeed. This Worker would gather Hosts for eggs.
Something about this odd, metal landscape she had been born in told her that there would be many Hosts to be found, nearby. And thus, she entered a trance, her body acting on muscle and nerve and feeling.
After a full day, and after the fifteenth Host had been found, subdued, and restrained, she reasserted full control of her faculties. Confidence.
Workers like her functioned best with some sort of regimen to follow. Guidelines. A pattern of living. They were therefore heavily reliant on a Mother to guide them.
At this point, a noticeable decrease of the number of Hosts, in the area, had been apparent to her. This triggered a confluence of understanding bubbling up from within— the Prey knew of her presence, and were reacting accordingly. It would not aid them— she could still find plenty by ranging further out from her burgeoning nest.
By the time the third day ended, she felt a stirring within her. Her body readying itself for her molt into Queenhood. One more Host would suffice. One more, and she could begin her metamorphosis. The Ancestral half of her psyche had no disagreements.
This one, she now thought. Not in English. No words or phrases. Pure thought. Pure instinct. Impulse.
She currently hid in a small tunnel, concealed in the ceiling above the head of a Human. The last Human she would capture. Her prey was stood in the middle of the chamber below, in front of a strange object. The object had a similar glow to that which came from the Human's arms and upper body. It's upper-limbs were moving this way and that in an odd, continuous sequence. The Worker had no conception what the human was doing, and had no inclination toward curiosity, but a distant auditory image touched her mind of it.
So painfully close to completing her task— one step closer to creating her Hive. She had been waiting in ambush, for a Human enter her sphere of perception. It had become obvious that, sooner or later, a Human always crosses paths with this sort of area— chambers all uniform and spaced equal distances apart. Seeing as though her wait for prey had come to an end, and she wouldn't find a better opportunity to strike, she carefully undid herself from the ball she had curled into. She could feel the instinctual, primal side of her mind spring and buck— demanding she charge in and destroy all obstacles. Prey, and the prospect of capturing it, excited her.
She had learned that Humans tended to run in the face of danger. Chases were always so tedious, and invited intervention from other Humans. Better to seize the Host, at once— not to allow the Prey to alert the herd. The Worker, only days old, had learned that stealth was most efficient— efficiency being paramount, especially with future of the Hive in her talons.
She shifted her weight, lowering her hands to the flooring of the tunnel. Her lip curled upwards in an equivalent of a cringe when the entire metal tunnel creaked and groaned loudly, from the change of position.
It seems that the structure of this tunnel had… "gotten used" to her being there and had been… "surprised" when she suddenly moved. As her focus remained on her Prey, she noticed that the Host was alerted by the sound. It stopped moving in its odd fashion and appeared to focus on the ceiling above. The glow of its heart intensified in its flashing. The sound of its heartbeat became just audible through the thick structure of the dwelling. Despite that the Ancestral instincts, granted to her at birth — a source of all-knowing guidance — thrashed about within her mental walls and demanded she take action, she remained focused. Her urges would have to wait.
Again, stealth was her best option to get as close as possible and take the human by surprise. The Worker held perfectly still, waiting for what felt like ages. Finally, the Host seemingly calmed down and started moving its arms in its usual robotic motions. She chuffed— a reflex of relief and satisfaction that she and not been "caught".
The Worker quickly, more carefully, made her way to her right and downwards to the entrance of the tunnels that served as her entry point into the human's dwelling. As always, an obstacle blocked it off— a grid of metallic bars, stretched across a square frame. She saw no way to remove the blockage quietly and head butted the obstacle out onto the floor of her prey's chamber, causing the alloy frame to clang loudly. Unfortunate, that her idea of surprise would be undermined so soon, but no matter Her newfound entrance allowed her into a small, separate chamber than the one the Human was in.
The Worker unknowingly growled low in anticipation as the Host yelped from the noise of the metal grating hitting the ground— the sweet smell of alarm, uncertainty, and dread tickled her fangs. The desire to run — to charge forth and seize the prey — rose up again. She took a moment to calm down, as a familiar, gradual burn began to surface in the back of her head. A sudden attack may surprise the Human just as well as stealth could, but the Host was already on alert and may try to flee. She needed clear thoughts… for the moment. The burn remained, however, as it always did when the Prey was close.
The Worker took the moment to crawl out of the child-sized tunnel, silently creeping towards the open doorway, to her left. Before she was halfway there, however, a hiss escaped her throat as the scent of foreign anger touched her senses. That anger encouraged anger from her, in turn. The Prey thought to fight back?
Arrogant meat!, she might have thought, were she given to personalized inner-dialogue. The burning in the back of her skull increased to a scorch at the concept of the prey fighting back. The Ancestral part of her was chomping at the bit to capture the human. She ignored it, for the moment, and continued crawling silently to the doorway separating her from her quarry. Her arms and legs splayed out to both sides to distribute her weight evenly and to avoid the floor creaking. Though the urge to charge the prey steadily strengthened, she resisted it. She would give in when she was sure the human wouldn't get the chance to run and escape.
Despite her intentions, a rumble forced itself from her maw as she began to drool. The pungent stench of fear, yet again, met her dorsal tubes. The prey had heard her. She was but an arms-length away from reaching the doorway. A subtle glow pulsed into being, flashing rhythmically, as the rest of the prey's body locked up in terror.
The Worker poked her head into the doorframe. The image of the Human clarified into perfect detail— torso bare, standing next to an ironing-board— two piles of clothing on the floor to either side. The Human twisted at the waist, turning around. The Human's gaze met the Worker's face, and the sickly-sweet smell of terror choked her sinuses...
This is what sent the Worker over the edge.
FEAR!
Instinct took over. There was little chance of escape, now.
AFRAID! AFRAID! MUST CAPTURE! MUST CAPTURE! HUNT! CHARGE! ENGAGE! These thoughts, which weren't entirely her own, repeated again and again, faster and faster. the burn in her head turned to fiery magma, and her skull rang in painful fury. Screaming for the young Worker to do what she was born for. Adrenaline, or something like it, flowed freely in rivers inside of her veins.
She jumped up, leapt to her right, and ran through the doorway. Talons raised, tail lashing behind her. Her black lips folded backward as her jaws opened fully— her inner jaw extending slowly, snapping. Drool pouring from her maw like a fountain— the thrill of the hunt being so strong. A shrill shriek that dripped with power, dominance, and blood-lust erupted from within. Her legs and back tensed as she leaned backward, shoulders hunching. It had begun, and she was airborne in an instant, leaping at the terrified Host—
But, then… everything stopped as the Host's eyes rolled back into its head, and it collapsed to the ground. Leaving the Worker to fly straight over her prey, knocking over the ironing-board in the process, and smashing head-first into the far wall of the chamber.
The wooden supports of the wall splintered and cracked as the Worker yanked her skull from the plaster. Her adrenaline surge quickly died down, drool stopped flowing, and the Ancestral became pacified as she shook her head, sending flakes of plaster and wood here and there.
Well, that was odd. Her Prey had never fallen asleep, before.
No matter. She retrieved the Host's limp body, and ignored the cries and screams it made as it soon awoke, and struggled against her iron grasp. The Worker permitted herself a sense of satisfaction, knowing that soon, all would be well with her.
Queenhood awaits.
As the Worker finished strapping the most recent Host to the wall of her future Hive, she stepped back to observe the soon-to-be Egg Chamber. About forty-two Hosts were all either sleeping or screaming for help that wouldn't come. All of them restrained in Hive Resin. The Worker didn't think she would need much more to get her Hive started. Her Hive… it felt weird to think about. Soon she would be twenty arm-lengths tall, and commanding the Soldiers of her Nest. Laying eggs and commanding the Hive in safety. It was odd… yet exciting and… it left a warm sensation in her mind at the thought of her Hive growing, spreading, and prospering.
Suddenly, she felt tired. Something that her kind rarely became. It must have meant that her body was beginning the molting process. And so, she half-mindedly walked to a corner of her future nesting chamber. The ceiling was just about high enough for a Queen to stand up straight.
Little did she know, this was where her Egg had first been transported to, on this world.
Cargo Bay 13.
She set about constructing a Hive Resin cocoon partway up a wall, molding it into a cradle that could grow and sprawl outward to accommodate her increasing size. Once it was finished, she crawled inside, sealing herself in, and fell into a deep sleep...
Day Eight of Infestation — 26th of February, 2182 A.D, Earth Standard Time
Wey-Yu man stumbled out from between a set of broken and warped mechanical doors, as a terribly loud roar from his deepest nightmares rattled the walls around him. He ran as fast and as far as he could, not daring to stop until the screeches and howls died away behind him. When his legs finally gave out under him, he crawled for all he was worth until eventually passing out.
He had woken up in the grip of the beast, days ago, only to repeatedly lose consciousness in fitful stupors. He had always had issues with his blood-sugar levels, and they'd already been rather low in the days prior to his capture. Fear did nothing to aid it.
For a matter of days, he had watched as the beast continued to collect other wayward souls. Some laborers and businessmen. Some tourists and residents. Some maimed and healthy. Some children and elderly...
He knew what fate awaited them, and as they all woke in confusion and fear, he couldn't bear to tell them of it. He simply pretended he didn't exist and tried to keep calm. With auxiliary power still working in the local area, the lights on the ceiling gave him a decent view of the situation. He had been strung up with Hive Resin on the wall at the far end of the Cargo Bay, only a few paces away from what appeared to be the exit. With a bit of luck and God willing: he had one chance of escape, with a limited window of opportunity. And so, he spent his time pushing against the Resin restraints, trying to shimmy his arm down to reach his pocket. This took a day, in itself.
In his pocket, he retrieved the switchblade his wife had given him, and he began subtly cutting at the Hive Resin restraining him. It was slow work, as he couldn't get any leverage, and the blade hadn't been sharpened in a long while. He also couldn't risk it being too obvious that he was freeing himself— both to the beast, and to the other captives. If they saw him escaping, they'd beg him to free them, too, and well... he simply couldn't cope with that. Their commotion would likely attract the beast's attention, as well. His only guarantee of escape was to wait for the exact, right moment.
Eventually, the time came, when the beast returned home for the final time, and began to form a cocoon to molt in. The time to act was then, and he worked for every waking moment. For two days, the cocoon ballooned to a monstrous size, gradually spreading out across the far wall, and for two days he cut and cut and cut.
Then... disaster. His switchblade broke off the handle at its root. He only barely managed to hang onto it, and his progress at cutting was forestalled even more. He only just managed to free his arm when the cocoon of the new Queen split open on its front, and the beast fell out onto the ground with an applause of frightened screams— even twenty meters away, the impact shook him, and he felt the noose of fate tightening.
He tried, nevertheless, to continue cutting slowly, surely, and surreptitiously. The Queen crouched and grew its Ovipositor over the course of hours, and he cut. It began to lay its terrible eggs, and he cut. The eggs began to hatch, and one by one, a parasite was provided to each captive. One, four, nine, eleven, seventeen. The cries and horror and anguish and fear grew greater and greater for the first day and a half, but as nearly half the captives were smothered and infested, they went quiet.
That was the worst of it, he found. The silent acceptance.
Still, he cut. Even as the worms burst from the chests of their victims and joined their monstrous mother. Even as the number of fellow captives dwindled further and further, still he cut.
And when the time came for his own parasite to claim him, still... he cut. He had only just managed to free his other arm...
By the time he awoke, the worms from before had spun themselves cocoons of their own, arranged around their mother like a collection of morbid, decorative cacti. He coughed and sputtered, knowing that it was now or never, and he tore at the Resin restraining him with a feverish fury. With both arms free, it was quick. He paid the Queen no mind as it hissed a horrid disapproval of his escape, and when he was finally freed: out of the door he went.
The Weyland-Yutani scientist woke up, on the carpeted floor of some dark hallway. His throat was sore, he felt like he hadn't eaten in a week, his muscles protested every motion. But still, he got to his feet. He knew he was doomed. But there was someone he needed to speak to. And something he needed to do. He evidently had his punishment coming to him, but he was blessed in being able to see it coming. And so, he found it fitting that he should deliver the same upon those deserving of it...
For the next ten days, the USCMC began frantically fumbling about to search for a Face-Hugger or adult Xenomorph they would never find. By the seventh day, Xenomorph Warriors were already up and about, wreaking havoc. Within the next few weeks, the Infestation had exploded and spread at an alarming rate, taking over three cities. Whole neighborhoods of people disappeared overnight. Military personnel repeatedly found whole squads of their own slaughtered and missing, every other day.
It was around that point where the quarantine was brought into full operation. The Xenomorphs, despite the military's efforts, had grown into the thousands, and put a massive strain on the Colonial Marine's defenses.
For six months afterward, total warfare took Guardian's surface, and this put the planet in a very precarious position. This time period in GD-625's history would come to be known as the Infestation of '182. Some say you can still smell the odor of acid and ammunition when you walk the utterly charred and destroyed halls of New Scena, Dimidirupt, and Tenvis. The smell of death.
The war raged, such as it was. Alien versus human. Xenomorph versus Marine. Internicivus raptus versus Homo Sapiens. The galaxy's worst monsters versus the best of the best of a generation.
And it was only a matter of time until a third species would get involved...
"The Aliens always win", has been a theme in the Alien films, time and again. Alien 3, especially, delivering that message like the blow of a sledgehammer. The series has ultimately always been about loss. Ripley lost her friends, her job, her daughter, Newt, Hicks, and we eventually see her lose her own life. And so the only victory afford to her was to take the infant Queen down with her. Beautiful and tragic...
…until Resurrection went and cocked-up, both, the synergy and the entire point by bringing Ripley back for literally no good reason… and by using really shoddily-explained "science".
The "glow" mentioned in the experiences of the Xenomorph Drone (Worker) is essentially the Drone sensing electromagnetic energy from the Human. Xenomorphs have a sixth sense called Electroreception— it is commonly found in sharks, electric eels, bees, and catfish. The sense comes from these invisible pores in the skin that detect the electricity made when a living thing moves its muscles.
Given the domed and elongated shape of a Xenomorphs head, it would stand to reason for the dome to be layered with these pores. The shape of a Xeno's head would also be ideal for sound waves to pass through it, like the echo inside a trombone, making a Xeno's sense of hearing impeccable.
A Xenomorph breathes and smells through its dorsal tubes, and also releases pheromones through these tubes in order to distinguish itself to the rest of its Hive-Mates. It also wouldn't be insane to think that Xenomorphs emit a low-frequency infrasound, for echolocation, for communication, and other uses. After all: without being able to determine the position and shape of objects and obstacles in reference to their Electroreception, a Xenomorph's vision would just be a mess of nonsense-signaling.