Chapter 3: First Impressions

An hour later...

When Samantha woke up, she didn't open her eyes right away. Partly because of her splitting headache, but mostly because she didn't... feel... the same.

She didn't feel the cold pricking at her skin. Nor the soreness of her throat, making her want to cough. The wet blood that dripped down her scalp had dried. But what caught her attention was that she didn't feel the weight of the debris pressing down on her, the feeling of air being pressed out of her lungs. She could take a breath and not feel like going into a hacking fit. Her arm still felt partially dislocated, which made a slightly numb ache pulse in her shoulder every few seconds. And she felt as if she was lying on something... soft, almost like a... mattress...

Wait….

Samantha cracked open her eyes only to clamp them shut, immediately, when her forehead's throbbing flared up, causing her eyes to water, slightly. Already getting sick of barely being able to move the fingers in her dislocated limb, Samantha lazily reached over with her right hand to grip the upper arm of her defective appendage and fully clip the bone back into her shoulder socket with a painful-sounding "snap".

She quietly groaned at the uncomfortable, yet relieving, pain that came with fully reconnecting a limb to the spinal cord. Having been an athlete for years, she was trained to deal with injuries like these. For a short while she lay there, rubbing her restored arm back into a comfortable state. She then stretched her arm, and rolled her shoulder to test it. At the strain, a burst of maddening pain erupted in her forehead, stopped her from celebrating the knowledge that her arm appeared to be fine. She reached up with both hands to rub the sleep out of her eyes, then to massage her forehead and the bridge of her nose to stop the aching. Then she realized something very obvious.

Hang on a tick... I can move my arms! I couldn't, before!

Suddenly remembering how her leg had felt like it was on fire and, wanting to verify the severity of the injury, she pulled her left leg up to get into a sitting position, but grunted and let it fall when her leg suddenly felt as if it was lit aflame.
Well, good to see that's still there.
She pushed with her hands to sit up, opening her eyes to look down and saw that her left shin was black, blue, and swollen. She reached down to try touching it, and pulled back when it felt like her fingertips had turned into lit cigars.

She frowned. Damn. A muscle must be torn beneath all the bruising. I'm not going anywhere fast with this leg. Especially not with those bruises, either. Though, judging by how I can still feel my toes, it shouldn't be too severe.

That's when she noticed that she was definitely not where she remembered being.

She was sat upon a king-sized bed with blue and beige covers, with a wooden headboard and foot-panel. In a medium-sized bedroom comprised of eggshell colored walls, white borders, and navy-blue carpet. A chest-high mahogany wardrobe sat against the left wall. A small bedside table with a yellow-parchment lamp on it, to her right. And to the right of that was a white door that faced the bed and, presumably, led to the bathroom. An oil-painting of a river in a forest during autumn, with a gold border, hung on the wall next to that door. Another door, presumably the exit, was right in front of the bed. The room was bathed in a golden light from a single, round light-bulb, stuck to the ceiling.

This apartment was clearly meant to feel like a hotel-room on Earth, and Samantha supposed that here would be as good a place as any to wake up without knowing how you got there.

The last thing she remembered was... Xenomorph raising its arm, about to kill her... so, she understandably pondered if she had died and if this was Heaven.

Hm... no, if this was Heaven, her shin wouldn't be burning like Hell.

So… how did I get here?, she wondered, her brow furrowing.


It had taken Anteros an hour to find the nearest apartment, and on the way, he'd run past a pair of Rangers that were apparently making a long patrol to the territory outskirts. Luckily, they must have thought he was taking the Human to the Hive's Egg-Chambers, because they paid him little mind. Upon entering the right room, he left the girl in the only bedroom, coated all of the vents in Hive Resin to prevent any entry through them, and had spent the past five minutes rooting around in the kitchen for food.
She would probably be hungry. Despite the necessity, Anteros still felt like a complete fool as he somewhat clumsily rooted around in the dwelling's cupboards; scrounging about for the slightest sign of Human foodstuffs. Like some sort of mentally-inept thief who either couldn't find a better target, or just couldn't tell where any money might be.

As he was about to give up out of frustration, seeing as though the previous residents had seemingly taken everything with them, he heard an echoed, distorted, feminine voice.

So... HoW dId I gEt HeRe?

He turned around, and felt that the flashing of the Human's diaphragm, lungs, and heart had picked up from their previous "sleeping" rhythm. He projected his senses, and through the bedroom-door, he perceived that she had sat up, and was looking around the room.

Ah... she's awake... wonderful, he thought, shifting on his feet as he was struck by a sudden pang of nervousness.

He had been vaguely aware of a small ringing in his head for the past forty-five seconds, but just now, it had disappeared. His mind had synced up to her brainwave patterns, or at least, that's what he theorized. It had only been through an absurd amount of patience, in an absurdly small amount of time that Anteros had come to be able to hear the thoughts of Humans... and an even more absurd amount of effort on his part to be able to communicate with them. Because he was the only one of his kind to even try, he was the only one to achieve this. Something that had benefitted him, greatly. Or vexed him, greatly. He couldn't decide which, and to this very day, it was a matter for debate.

Needless to say, it had, and probably will, create very odd situations for him. Every thought of hers, he was able to hear— she was "broadcasting" about twenty different notions each second, and Anteros could pick out the most prominent ones with relative ease.

He... supposed that he should go and, uh... check on her. She would be seeing a lot more of him from now on, if he planned to escape Guardian with her, in tow...
Shaking his head, Anteros dropped to all fours and padded out of the kitchen, through the living room, and stopped in front of the bedroom door.

The Unknown wanted to run inside to greet her, the Ancestral demanded her be slain— both would be bad ideas. And Anteros? Strangely, he felt the need to leave her alone. He was dreading how this might play out, really. He felt himself growl in a nervous fit at the many possible ways she might react to him and to the sheer insanity that was this contemptible set of circumstances. But... he knew that if he were to make any progress, at all, in sorting out this entire "Human girl-Unknown" phenomenon, he'd have to start somewhere.

Even if it meant starting with a bad first impression.

He rose up onto his hind legs, closed a clawed hand around the copper handle, and opened the door...


Samantha nearly jumped out of her own skin when the door in front of her creaked and started to open. She had been thinking that she might have been saved by somebody... but...

When the door opened to reveal a Xenomorph standing there… for a moment that seemed like an eternity all she could do was stare blankly at it. Not believing her eyes. Her mind just... couldn't begin to function... it wasn't so much shock as it was confusion... she couldn't even begin to make sense of it... not that it made any sense, in the first place, anyway.

And then, like a warning that came too late, the voice of reason chose to intervene.

FUCKING RUN YOU IDIOT!.

In an instant, she leapt off of the bed, to her right, yelping as she felt her leg boil, and collapsing to the floor in the process, resulting in her landing facedown on the carpet. Subconsciously knowing that that was the least of her problems, she ignored the pain shooting up through her shin and scrambled frantically with her remaining leg and arms to the bathroom door with a speed that could only come from desperation— the stinging sensation flaring up in her ribs gave her no pause, either. She did not want to die, like this.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! Hell fucking no! Not after surviving what I've been through! Not after everything I did!

Her thoughts only acted as a handful of thermite thrown onto the muscle-burning adrenaline slamming through her veins— it suddenly felt like two-hundred degrees (Celsius) inside her own skin. With what felt like minimal effort, Samantha pushed up with her arms, "jumping" while prone, and yanked down the door handle to her nearest escape route, swung it open as best she could while being supported on only her right knee, and practically dove into the bathroom. Running completely on instinct and adrenaline, she scrambled to the closed, cubicle shower in the far corner, ignoring how the cold, tile-floor scraped against her knee, leg, and elbows.

Samantha, in her all seeing wisdom, yanked open the glass door into the shower, before diving inside the marble box, and closed the glass panel behind her once she was inside the small, marble stall, gasping, and pushing back against the wall with her right leg.

She instantly realized she was now trapped. That Xenomorph could now just waltz inside, rip her apart, and leave with no trouble. And she could do nothing about it.

Despite her hyperventilating, and panicked state of fight or flight... she felt her throat start to close up, her cheeks begin to burn, and her eyes watering, as, for the first time in 5 months, she began to cry, welling up from within. And she had every right to cry, dammit! She was going to die an undoubtedly painful death in less than a minute, and she had brought about her own demise even faster by trapping herself in this shower! Nothing about this situation was good!

Not that she could have escaped, either way...

Before she could contain it, quiet, coughing sobs wracked her body, and echoed inside the bathroom, accompanied with tears, forcing her eyes to clamp shut.

I'm such a fucking idiot! None of this would have happened if I hadn't forgotten to SEAL THE GOD-DAMN FUCKING AIR LOCK! WHY!? Why do I have to die, now, when everything was going SO well!? Why did ANY of this have to happen!? Why did I have to become a murderer because if all this!? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS!? Why!? Why?!

She curled in on herself up into the corner of the shower, sobbing, knowing that if she was going to breakdown and cry at some point, it may as well be now.


Anteros... felt sick. Despite this being only the latest in a long string of similar rhetoric heard from the minds of Humans, he wasn't any more equipped to cope with it, now, than he was before.

He didn't know what he'd expected, really, but he supposed this was only natural.

Before he could do anything, the female shot straight off of the bed with surprising speed, and scrambled up to, and through the door next to the bed. That told Anteros two things. One: she was scared enough to completely disregard the injury in her left leg, and two: she had the will to at least try to get away while other humans might have simply sat and waited for their demise.

He heard her thoughts echo into his head— No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! Hell fucking no! Not after surviving what I've been through! Not after everything I did!

`Everything I did`? What could she mean by that?, he wondered. He had tried to discern any of her other, minor thoughts, but the adrenaline in her system was mucking up the "reception". He didn't know why she had gone into the bathroom, where he could have easily went in and had her trapped, but at least she was strong enough to move, and therefore, strong enough to heal from her injury.

The sound of her heartbeat was loud enough that it could almost be called "deafening" (if Anteros had had any ears), and he might have gone blind too (or eyes) from how brightly the electric energy in her heart was flashing. Boy, she was… really scared... though, that was nothing new to him.

Anteros, dropped to all fours and stalked around the corner of the bed and over to the doorway. He paused at the doorway into the bathroom as he was almost forced to recoil from a myriad of scents slamming into him. An absurdly strong odor of stress, fear, anguish, and sadness made its way through the gaps in the straps of muscle that made up his "cheeks", and into his Piston Jaw to meet his smell receptors.

And what was even more stalling was the sound of... crying? He had heard it many times from the Hosts that had been about to die from birthing a Newborn. To hear it come from this female, the one who had kept it together the first time she'd seen him was... disheartening. Her thoughts came to him, once more—

I'm such a fucking idiot! None of this would have happened if I hadn't forgotten to SEAL THE GOD-DAMN FUCKING AIR LOCK! WHY!? Why do I have to die now when everything was going SO well!? Why did ANY of this have to happen!? Why did I have to become a murderer because if all this!? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE ONE OF THE WORST FATES IMAGINABLE!? Why!? Why?! The voice was pained with emotional anguish, and one could tell that she'd scream it from the rooftops, if she could.

Murderer? She's committed murder?, Anteros was... surprised. Everything else in those thoughts would require future inquiry, but it was that "murderer" part that had caught him. Anteros oriented his head to the side, seeming to think for a second, then "looked" back up and slowly padded into the bathroom. At one time he'd have been too shocked at the amount of emotional pain caused because of him to move, but now, it only served to make the right side of his lips crack open in a grimace.

It also solidified how and why his life had taken a drastically different course from those of his compatriots.

More on that later.

The Unknown pulsed with sympathy and a desire to help, while the Ancestral only swelled with contempt. Anteros moved over to the shower; where the distressed Human had holed up.


When she heard the small scrapes of claws on ceramic tile flooring, she didn't bother to stop crying or to be quiet. It wouldn't know what "sobbing" meant, or even was, anyway. When the scraping fell silent, she reluctantly opened her eyes to see the Xenomorph standing on all fours in front of the cubicle. The lower half of its body was hidden behind the wall she was curled up against... and it was staring at her. She closed her eyes again, and pressed her forehead against the marble wall, still sobbing, waiting for the thing to smash its way through the glass and kill her...

But nothing came. She peeked at it from the corner of her eye multiple times to see that it still hadn't moved. As if… waiting for something. It stood there for so long that, eventually, the tears dried up, and some of her emotional turmoil was replaced by coldness and morbid curiosity. She glared resentfully at the creature, which seemed to shift on its feet, nervously, as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her arm.

What the Hell are you looking at?, she thought, scowling. No action or response of any sort. It just kept staring at her...

She now felt something akin to shame and humiliation. It was like it was mocking her. Standing there, watching her get worked up. Teasing her...

Just get it over with, she glared downwards, angrily.

The Xenomorph seemed to pivot slowly in response, bringing the rest of its body into full view. Her eyes darted up to look, then shifted downwards again. She thought nothing of it, at first. Before it sat down on its back legs, like a dog or cat, which forced Samantha to once again stare at the creature's odd behavior. She'd never seen any Xeno do that. And she doubted one of them would do so while in a a Human's presence.

What the Hell do you think you're doing?, she thought, eyes narrowing in confusion and incredulity.


Anteros had waited patiently for her to calm down as she slowly stopped crying. It had been a few minutes before her sobs turned into sniffs, and her scent turned slightly aggressive.

What the hell are you looking at?

Well, if she was going to be offended by him simply watching her, then this really wasn't going to go very smoothly.

You, he pretended to reply, cheekily, in his head, as he shifted on his feet.

She then became angry for some unknown reason, as many of her kind did in these kinds of situations. Just get it over with, he heard.

Mmm— nah, I think I'll keep you around, he "replied" in thought, smarmily, as he moved to stand facing the front of the glass panel separating him from the human.

What the Hell do you think you're doing?, he heard her think, when he had sat down in front of the glass door. Which struck him as a strange thought to have, given that it was what he wasn't doing, right now, that was the oddity of the situation.

Her mental voice was thick with suspicion, hate, and shame. Although he couldn't actually "see through" the glass, his echolocation still reached over and on the other side of it through the gap between its edge and the ceiling. Plus, his electro-reception still easily allowed him to see her skeletal-structure, so it wasn't a real obstacle.

Oh, just hanging around... the usual, he said to himself.

He waited for another few minutes, as she stared at him; paranoia waving off of her, as she fidgeted in her spot.

When things had seemingly calmed down, Anteros decided to lift his tail, causing the female to jump and fix her gaze on it. He moved it forward and wedged the tip of his tail blade into the gap of the glass door. He pushed the glass all the way open with the flat of his tail-blade and tentatively pulled his tail back from the door; seeing if it would swing shut. When it showed that it would stay open on its own, he returned his tail back to its original position, and ever so slowly stood up back up to his feet.

She shifted again, and the smell of fear intensified.

He didn't like that he was making her skittish, but he had to assess just where the "boundaries" would be with her. He also wanted to try and show some good will, though... he probably should have come up with a way to do that before just walking in...


Samantha, despite knowing that the Xenomorph would kill her, still felt fear strangle around her throat, and shifted a bit where she sat on the marble floor. The shower cubicle itself was only 5-feet by 5-feet, so the Xenomorph could take two steps to be within range to tear out her jugular. She had thought that there being no escape would make her at peace with her fate, but all it seemed to do was make her feel trapped and anxious.

The Xeno seemed to be deliberately slow in its actions, almost as if it wanted her to die from suspense long before injury. It lifted its left hand, leaned forward, and placed it on the raised step that suspended the glass panel's frame. It tilted its head, and she made a small, nervous moan, her eyes widening— all at once her heart was beating in her ears, once again. It lifted its other hand, and placed it a bit closer. She whimpered.
The sound of her beating heart was so loud in her ears, that she didn't hear the Xenomorph produce the small whining noise from within its throat...

As the Xenomorph brought about half of its body using one of its back legs into the cubicle, she began hyperventilating.

And when it was about to move its other hind leg... her fight or flight impulse must have kicked in before she could think because, at the same time, its lips had pulled back, revealing its teeth and… well…

Her right leg snapped upward and her boot slammed into its muzzle.


Anteros... had just been taking a breath by baring his teeth... for a split fucking second, and he had heard very vague and primal thoughts of "kick" and "hit" come from the female, when the girl's heavily-clad rubber boot had connected with his teeth. His skull had instantly snapped backward (making him immensely thankful that he was immune to "whiplash") as he screeched loudly— his hind legs pushing against the stone step beneath, on impulse, launching him out of the shower stall. Landing about five feet from the shower, straight onto his back.

The glass door had slammed shut from his tail knocking into it, making the female jump, again. Immediately scrambling upright, Anteros had to take a minute after sitting up; gripping his head with both hands, because the amount of survival instincts that fired off from the Ancestral en masse made his head spin, and it took all of his will-power not to jam his claws into the Human's throat. Which... conflicted with the feelings of hurt and submissiveness pulsing from the Unknown. Once both impulses eventually subsided, he shook his head with a snarl.

Okay... so that's where the boundaries were.

Wow... that really hurt, he thought ruefully, as a clawed hand clapped against his bared teeth.

Alright, he'd have to avoid breathing in front of her— chances were, she mistook it for a sign of aggression... fantastic.

He could try just breathing with his mouth closed, and through the gaps in his "cheeks"… even if it was the equivalent of a Human trying to breathe with a plug in one nostril, and the other stuffed with mucus.

He then realized something.

Hey, wait... that actually fucking hurt!, he repeated, amazed. As if to prove his point, he felt something wet drip onto the inside of his lower jaw. Though it was his Piston Jaw that he "swallowed" with, since it was an extension of his esophagus, he still had taste buds on the roof and "floor" of his mouth. And he tasted the acrid, burning of blood... well, his kind's blood. He kept his maw and lips shut while whatever was bleeding slowly stopped dripping with acid. Then he padded over to the back, left corner of the room (the corner parallel to the shower cubicle), and allowed the accumulated blood to spill onto the floor, there. Creating a green-yellow-brown hole in the tile-work, which got bigger with each passing second.

He thought he had heard her think something, but he dismissed it for the moment.

Then he went back over in front of the shower door, and started picking in between each of his teeth. He stopped when his claw went through the space that one of his pre-molars, just behind his upper right canine, used to be in.

A brief infrasonic chirp caused him to orient his head to the floor tile right behind him.

His tooth…

That's... actually amazing, he thought in disbelief, picking up the tooth with a thumb and finger. Very few humans, even the ones that were supposedly their best warriors, actually used their legs to inflict injury— and even less managed to cause an injury to one of his kind doing so! He threw his missing tooth over his shoulder and made another infrasound chirp, orienting his head at the Human in the shower cubicle.

Her shirt had lifted up a bit, revealing part of her abdomen, and what his echolocation picked up made him release a second chirp, at a higher frequency for a sharper image, just to make sure he wasn't "seeing" things.

Muscles.
A "four pack" to be precise.
They certainly weren't as "pronounced" as the ones he'd seen on some of the male Human Marines, but they were definitely there.

After seeing countless female Hosts within the Hive, who had all possessed the muscle-mass of a bird hatchling, this was truly an oddity!

Well damn... she really is a tough one..., he thought, impressed. This confirmed his earlier summations from when he'd first encountered her.


When the Xenomorph had disappeared off to the right, Samantha had her hand over her mouth in shock at what she had just done. She'd probably enraged it! Oh, shit! It's probably really pissed off! Oh god, it's going to tear me apart limb from limb!, she thought, panting. At least before, it seemed like it was going to make her death quick, but now that she had injured it, that could very well change!

She had squeaked in dread when it found its missing tooth on the floor...

It brought the tooth up to its head, examining it, then... threw it over its shoulder and out of sight.

She stared in pure confusion when the creature only glanced at her, then padded out of sight, itself. And... Out. The. Door...

Uh... what?

She blinked as her mind pondered over how… calm the Xeno seemed to be acting...


After leaving the bathroom, Anteros believing that that was as far as they'd get in terms of interaction, today, he hopped up onto the bed and glanced about the room. He had to leave in order to find some food for the girl— she would have to keep her energy up if she were to keep up with him in the Hive's territory.

And perhaps a food offering would gain some trust from her…

But he couldn't leave without keeping her here, somehow. She'd no doubt escape as soon as he turned his back, and as much as he detested the idea of disregarding a sapient being's free will, he couldn't let that happen. He internally frowned as he considered his options. He couldn't just lock the doors, she'd just unlock them and leave. And she'd probably just kick down any Hive Resin he secreted, like how she'd "kicked down" his tooth...

Nevertheless... he would have grinned devilishly as a new, more plausible idea dawned on him…


Samantha frowned as she heard the sound of something heavy scraping across carpet come from the bedroom. And when she heard the sound of the Xenomorph's feet running, and felt it through the floor, slowly fade out of ear shot, her frown deepened.

What the Hell?, she thought, her eyebrow raising.

After half an hour of waiting for a sound of any kind, and being greeted with silence, she finally decided to chance it. Samantha, with her leg still seemingly lathered in flames, used the marble walls of the bathroom to get up and out of the shower; trudging over to peek into the bedroom, ignoring the acrid stench of Xeno blood from the hole in the corner, behind her.

There was nothing, there. Except for the door out of the bedroom being closed.

Her eyes ignited with the light of hope as she half-ran to the door.

She yanked down the handle— and it's not budging. She was confused, but realized that the Xenomorph had somehow locked the door. With a cocky smirk thinking "clever, but not clever enough", she unlocked the door and tried the handle again. It worked that time.

She then pushed the door open… and frowned when it didn't budge either. She shoved against it with her shoulder, but it wouldn't move.

She went pale and realized that there was only a rectangular "footprint" in the carpet where the mahogany wardrobe used to be…

Damn...

... it barricaded the fucking door!


After Anteros had locked and blockaded the bedroom door using that surprisingly heavy wardrobe, then locked the door to the apartment, itself, he had went trotting down the hallways of the apartment section of the complex. The Ancestral pushed even harder to not leave the girl alive, and the Unknown seemed to long for her presence.

He hadn't had much hope in finding food inside the dwelling, since the Humans that had left it had taken most of the food, or it was eaten by his Hive-Mates. So his best bet now would be to root around in a grocery store or super market or something. Hopefully his "brethren" had not gone to one of those to eat for the sake of eating. He wasn't worried about his "charge" being found by a member of the Hive. Mother had deliberately ordered the abandoned "Human dwellings" be strictly avoided for the sake of efficiency. A decision that Anteros had come up with and suggested, but still.

Anteros took a left at an intersection in the plasticrete-carpet hallways. He had once heard from a Human Marine's thoughts that these hallways "looked a lot like hotels on Earth". Anteros had not had the time to find out what "hotel" was, but he assumed they were pleasant things, judging by the Marine's aura of fondness... just before he had to lop to guy's head off to not be caught acting suspicious, by Mother. He was doing something with/around a Human that didn't involve killing, after all. Very suspicious, indeed.

At the thought of that event, he caught himself daydreaming as he walked— sucked into that old repository of broken bodies, choking screams, and anguished faces...

Will those memories ever go away?, he had asked himself many, many numerous times, despite already knowing the answer, and despite the fact that that would defeat the point

They only seemed to become more vivid with each kill. At times he'd ask himself why he endured deliberately remembering every time he took a life, and thus tortured himself. If he gave in to the adrenaline rush and instincts that he would become flushed with in each of those moments, then they would have faded away into the fog of his mind as mere glimmers and small flashbacks.

He could forget them.

Like all of his Hive-Mates do...

But then he'd remember. When he was barely a month old. The milestone that had changed him so profoundly. And the Host that almost gave him a way out of the life that he'd discovered was a living Hell...

And now he'd remember the anguished thoughts and memories, from less than ten minutes ago, too...

They're the reasons he forced himself to endure... to remember...

Anteros shook his head a bit, a small whine squeezing out of his closed jaws. None of that was important, anymore. For you see, it had occurred to him that, when he left Guardian-625... he wouldn't have to kill anymore— that he could finally do something else once he left the Hive behind. And, perhaps, he could do them with the Human woman, after he figured out what exactly about her had affected him so profoundly, i.e.: a seizure and a new voice in his bones, the Unknown. He didn't know, maybe they could end up as "friends". Anything was possible, at this point, so... he chose to think in positive terms.

Anteros hopped over an acid "stain" that had just about dissolved the entire floor of about five feet of hallway. He didn't know what kind of Human civilian weapon could have caused an injury to one of his kind grievous enough to do that, but he didn't actually care. He took a right at a t-junction, remembering where to go. At the end of that hallway was the door to the outside; it was locked, so Anteros had to stand up on his hind legs and bash it open with his fists. When a small courtyard was revealed to him, he bared his teeth, taking a breath; smelling the early-evening air. With a grunt of disinterest he dropped down to all fours and began trotting across the thirty foot wide, grass and cobblestone laden courtyard. Then he felt his skull buzz—

" S?", Mother called, her voice sounding slightly faint.

Anteros almost instantly tripped over his own feet in surprise, shrieking, ending up stumbling into an empty, metal trashcan. Both he and it ended up in a heap.

Anteros growled as he picked himself up, angrily swatting at the garbage receptacle with his tail, sending it sailing across the courtyard to land on the infinite roof of the city-spanning complex. Why do I get the feeling that that's going to become a regular occurrence?, he thought ruefully, sitting on his haunches, not looking forward to future communiqué with his mother.

"Yes, mum?", he replied, as if he hadn't just fallen on his arse because of her. The connection became stronger when he answered.

"You are not where you were last, are you ready to return to the Hive?", she asked.

"Hm? Oh, that? Yeah, no, that was a fluke, it couldn't have been beneficial to the Hive in any way. I've moved on to something to that can", he responded flippantly.

"Strange. You don't usually pursue things that don't look useful, for certain...", she commented with a small hint of musing in her monotone mental voice.

"Well, the choices of what to look in to are narrowing, and the options don't look very enticing, after all of this time", he said, faking his rueful tone.

"Mm", she responded in affirmative. "Are you certain you don't want to return to the Hive?", she asked. Anteros didn't know why she was asking. If she wanted, she could just order him to do so. Or... had he underestimated the level of self-awareness in his Hive-Mates and Queen?

Was she testing him to see if he'd give the wrong response?

"Trust me mum, this looks important", he said, only half-lying.

No. He was certain that she was simply asking "why she should let him" be away from the Hive, and why he felt he should look into whatever it was he was investigating.

"Very well", she consented.

Anteros passively stood up and continued trotting down the path he was taking.


The Queen's impressive set of jaws shifted under her exoskeletal crown. Anteros was truly behaving strangely. He had rarely ever intentionally been away from the Hive this long. But she supposed that if it was as urgent as he thought, then he must have been attempting to investigate it to the best of his ability.


Samantha sat down on the bed, panting, running her hands through her hair, and thoroughly peeved at how the Xenomorph had trapped her in the bedroom. She'd spent the last ten minutes trying to knock the door down while spitting out an impressive variety of curses. She'd even thrown the lamp at it out of frustration.

She had been driven by the desire to not be here when the monster came back to get her. And it would come back. She was adamant in her conviction to be long gone before that thing could have a chance to kill her. It missed its chance to do so twice now, and a third time would be both unacceptable and unpleasant. But now? She just didn't have the energy to try getting away.

She... guessed that there would be no escape now… the Xenos would finally make her bite the dust and she had no way of avoiding it, this time.

Samantha shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

Not knowing what to do, and having her mind fogged by exhaustion, she simply sat and waited for death to come.

Well, obviously she got bored of doing that, so she swung her legs onto the mattress, hissing at how her left leg burned even more than it had when she'd first woken up in here. This whole time she'd been hobbling around on her right leg, trying not to put any weight on her left while she was ranting and raving and mucking about with the door. Needless to say, she'd fallen down a few times. As the burning in her leg died down, she allowed her thoughts to drift.

Unsurprisingly they revolved around her captor.

Instead of dreading how it'll kill her, and how slowly, she reflected on the beast's behavior, oddly enough. The Xenomorph, instead of taking her to the Hive, had dragged her to some random apartment. Which was weird. It also seemed to have no intention of killing her about twelve minutes ago, if the fact that it hadn't hissed or growled at her once meant anything, even though it easily could have killed her— also in spite of her kicking it in the face. She also recalled how it seemed to have a seizure a little while ago when it attempted to end her life, then.

Did it like her for some reason? Was it hoarding her from the rest of the Hive? Or was it simply "saving her for later"? Perhaps "storing" her for future use as a Host or as food? Or... could it just be dumb? A mental defect maybe? Rejected from the Hive out of a need for intelligence and efficiency? No possibility seemed more or less likely than any other.

She couldn't make sense of any of this shit. She stopped trying when her thoughts started giving her a headache.

She simply decided to not trust it. At all. Distrust was safe. Distrust would make sure taking risks didn't kill her. After all... it's a Xenomorph. The deadliest thing in the galaxy...

In any regard, she got to her feet and hopped into the bathroom, looking for a sink. She found it to be built into the wall, right in front of the shower cubicle. She must not have noticed it when she was bugging out like a big bug, bugging about in a dune buggy.

She suddenly became perplexed at her own thoughts. She hadn't used that alliterative phrase in literal years— why did she think of it, now? "Bugging out like a big bug, bugging about in a dune buggy". It was a funny little saying that her dad used to say whenever she was freaking out or panicking about something frivolous or stupid. The memory brought her... the smallest modicum of comfort, along with sudden home-sickness.

No matter. She turned on the faucet on the stainless-steel tap and set it to warm. She then set about washing her face and neck with the water, wetting her hair and washing away the scab and dried blood in her scalp and on her forehead. When she was certain that she was as clean as she cared to be, she absentmindedly looked in the mirror.

There she was. Green eyes, tanned face, pale skin, raven-black hair. Massive rings around her eyes. Her white, buttoned-down shirt was filthy, naturally. Scratches and bloodstains, galore. She'd have to find a replacement for it, soon. Unless she planned on going topless for the rest of the Infestation. Hell, maybe naked except for underwear.

While she certainly wasn't ashamed about her figure, she still thought it better to maintain a bit of... "professionalism?". Something like that. Besides, she'd ran into other Human survivors multiple times and, well... that would just be awkward.


Two hours later.

Anteros padded down another empty store aisle. His claws clicking against the smooth ceramic floor. Regrettably, he had been wrong in his hope that food would still be in one of the nearby Human shops. He had been searching through different stores, bistros, restaurants, and bars in the Humans' "Commercial District" for two fucking hours! He was in the arduous process of looking around in his fifth convenience store when he began to get ticked.

Hmphf... `convenience store` my arse… more like `abandoned, rundown, shitty, empty, depressing waste of time`, he ranted in his head. Such colorful language, as well— really making good use of all of the extensive lexicon he'd gathered. So many of these words were perfect for describing his emotions. Which was likely the point of them.

Anteros was growling softly, his head hanging low below his shoulders in his peeved state, as he weaved around the end of the aisle on his left and walked down the next, and final one. If he were Human, one would compare him to a very miffed-looking child, about to throw a temper tantrum. This store, like the rest of them, was locked up, out of power, and empty— before Anteros had shattered a window and smashed through the metal blockade in his way, of course.

He was starting to become anxious to get back to his Human. He'd been gone longer than expected. Could she have gotten the door down, somehow, and moved his improvised barricade? He didn't think so. Could she have been found, either by the Hive, or by the Colonial Marines? Not probable. But that didn't stop him from worrying. It was the entire reason he'd limited himself to searching nearby food locations— the few places that he knew for a fact had food in them were too far away; the trip to and from would take three hours, at least. The Unknown longed to be with her again, an urge that Anteros wouldn't mind placating at the moment. The Ancestral had been deathly silent for a very long time. Too long. Longer than usual. Long enough to be a concern.

Anteros had noticed how it had acted like that the moment he had killed his Hive-Mate, the young Soldier. It was almost as if... being a traitor without a Hive made it feel as lost as Anteros was beginning to feel. Being forced to make up your plans as you go along because of complications. Not having a schedule or regime to follow. Not being able to commune with the Queen for instructions. He'd been largely without supervision, granted... but there was no safety net, anymore, and every decision mattered, now. He was quickly growing to... detest how it felt— your fate being entirely in your hands without the slightest chance of leniency in the case of failure.

Hmphf... listen to him, starting to sound almost like a Worker. That was something odd which Anteros could never really make sense of. The Workers (known as "Drones", by Humans) of the Hive had always seemed the most... skittish, most reliant on Mother, and the least... "independent" of his former Hive-Mates. Anteros had seen stuff like that happen all the time.

Whenever a large-scale battle would take place between Marines and the Hive's Soldiers and Rangers, somewhere in the complex, Mother's attention would always be drawn away, to see what is happening through the "eyes" of her children in the fight. And when she isn't focused on the activities of the Hive, the Workers would go without her strong mental presence. At first, for ten minutes at least, they'd all appear to be fine, and get on with their tasks. But even a Human would be able to tell that they were nervous. If the engagement elsewhere lasted more than fifteen minutes, or so, the Workers would begin to get extremely worried. They'd all seem to drop what they were doing and start pacing, running in circles, or some other nervous habit. Because they knew that something bad was happening, somewhere, and they weren't being reassured by "mommy".

This, as it happens, could sometimes result in some chaotic (and sometimes humorous) mishaps. Eventually when Mother turned her attention back to what was happening in her Hive, she would restore order, and get each Worker back to their jobs, as if nothing happened. Anteros didn't know why his Worker counterparts would act in this manner, but... it sometimes seemed as if the Workers are always the first to react poorly whenever something remotely bad happened. He didn't know, maybe they just required more comfort from Mother, or something. Though, he supposed that was why Sentries were always there to "proxy" for Mother, in those situations. Most of the time. Sometimes they weren't.

Anteros suddenly found his thoughts interrupted by a smell as he was halfway down the aisle. His head rose as he caught more of the scent in his open jaws... calcium... wheat... fruit. He bounded forward to find the source.

There, at the end of the aisle on the right, bottom shelf, a round plastic package that smelled fake and processed. Cringe-worthily horrible. Repugnant.

Just the kind of thing Humans like.

He bounded the rest of the short distance, stopping in front of it. He leaned back into a crouch, snatched it up in his claws, and carried it in his mouth as he made his way out of the store, onto a blue/gray metal balcony that wrapped around the building once, before disappearing into the seemingly endless, city-spanning roof that encompassed almost the entire viewable horizon.


Samantha didn't jump when she heard the sound of dull scraping outside the door, like she'd normally do when a noise startled her. Her brain had practically gone deceased out of boredom for two hours, straight. She didn't bother moving from her supine position on the bed to look up when the door opened. If it killed her, it killed her. At this point, death would be a blessing.

Two. Hours. Nothing. Just sitting there and waiting— nothing to do, nothing to focus on, only the ceiling, the light-bulb, and you. That, right there, is a special kind of boredom. The kind that makes you go borderline catatonic. At first, you try to occupy yourself with your thoughts, but there's only so much thinking you can do before nothing gets done. After that, you start neurotically searching the entire room for something to look at, or play with, or do, but when all you find is a mediocre piece of artwork: the novelty quickly runs out. You, then you try to just take a nap, but if you've already been asleep, like she had, then well... you just end up alone with your thoughts...
At which point you start agonizing over those painful, existential questions that you'd spent your whole life avoiding. So, of course, after a while, you end up with no answers to any of those questions, and you are left with nothing, once more.
So, of course... you end up thinking nothing, at all. And you just zone out and ruminate on distant memories and past mistakes... at which point, you start berating yourself over stupid little incidents that happened decades ago...
But even that becomes boring...

So, yes, at this point, Samantha was quite literally too bored to care about dying.

Besides... after having had two hours to think... she might have been slightly more willing to give the creature the benefit of the doubt...

She felt a weight suddenly press down on the foot of the bed, making it shake beneath her. The sound of fabric being brushed against... and she felt something seamlessly be placed on her stomach. She looked down from the ceiling to see a package of dried fruit, eggs, and cheese— like something out of an ad for brand-made children's meals. She felt the weight on the bed lift, and looked to see the Xenomorph from before walk toward the door. Without fear (at least not very much of it) clouding her reasoning, she could actually observe and study the creature. At least, now, she actually had something to look at...

It was unlike any Xeno she'd seen. It wasn't jet-black, navy blue, or dark gray. It had a bronze-amber color to its entire body. It's dome-like skull seemed to gleam at the right angle, while the rest of its body had a dulled, watered-out quality to it. While on all fours it had to be as tall at the shoulder, half-again as long as, and thrice as deadly as a Sumatran tiger. Drawing attention to the fact that its arms were just as long as its legs, like a quadruped. Its tail seemed ever so slightly longer than the rest of its body— almost disproportionate. While standing on its hind legs, from what she remembered, it had to be about seven feet tall, same as a Drone.

Another thing she noticed was its skin.

Instead of being completely arthropodal and/or chitinous in nature, like all Xenos were, this one seemed to have a mix of both chitin and a leathery-epidermis-esque flesh. While the creature was definitely not as bulky as she'd seen on a lot of Warriors, its armor-clad skin seemed like it was designed for agility, and acrobatics. Or, at least flexibility. The next thing she took note of was that... there almost seemed to be visible muscles in its upper arms and thighs. While its forearms, shins, and feet were like all other Xenos — skeletal looking, light-weight, yet strong — its upper arms and thighs looked more... organic, instead of bio-mechanical.

The last thing she noticed was the weapon on the end of its tail. A Warrior's tail blade is long- two feet long, to be precise, slightly curved and made to stab, shank and impale. A Drone's is short, one-foot, thick, curved, with paddle-like spines near the base of the blade, yet built for the same purpose. Whereas this Xeno's was… odd. It was just under two feet long, completely straight, like a stiletto knife. Serrated edges, and smooth on both flat sides of it, like an arrowhead. If she had to guess, it would be most effectively used for quick, repeated stabs. Or as some sort of built-in "saw blade" or something.

She momentarily noted with some embarrassment that it completely lacked dorsal tubes, or... any spinal appendage for that matter. If she was even partly correct as to what dorsal-tubes were for, that meant that this bronze variant most likely strictly breathed and smelled through its mouth. Meaning that, earlier, she had kicked it because it was breathing. She had kicked it. In the face. Because it was taking a breath...

... wonderful. Really making great use of that Major in Biology, aren't you, Samantha? Regular female Steve Irwin, here.

Samantha looked down at the food it had apparently brought her and frowned as she looked back up at the creature. It was shuffling in a tight circle in the doorway, then lied down, wrapping its tail around its body, like a dog would do. Seeing the behavior that would immediately denote the concept of "sleep" caused her to look around for a clock. She found one on the bedside table, a digital clock with glowing blue numbers: 11:41 P.M. Her lip curled, and she bared her teeth to herself in bitterness.

It was clearly, either, a lot more intelligent than other Xenomorphs, or all Xenomorphs were just as smart. Neither possibility brought her any comfort.

Its different appearance, offering of food, and odd behavior didn't help its "case" in her mind. For all she knew it could be trying to trick her into earning her trust, it could be a rogue from the Hive, or it could have poisoned the food— or something! Xenomorphs can be very devious! When it suits them, at least.

She wouldn't make the mistake of trusting the thing, not for one second, ever! She chucked the food-package off-handedly at the bathroom door, causing it to bounce off and roll under the bed. The Xenomorph seemed to momentarily look up (at which she froze, fearing that she'd bitten off more than she could chew), glancing at the rejected offering, then laying its head down again. She huffed.

She wouldn't weep over uneaten food, much less food offered by a Xenomorph, of all things.

Besides, it had obviously placed itself in the doorway to stop her from getting away. She sat up, against the wooden headboard, crossing her arms, watching it. She wasn't afraid of it anymore, per se, but she wouldn't feel safe while it was around. Let alone sleep with it in the same room.

One day, far in the future, though: she would come to realize that, yes, it was sleeping there to make sure that she wouldn't escape... "it" was also doing so to protect her.


Had Anteros been Human, he would have given the girl a "really?" face, and then shook his head chidingly at her. He had heard all of her thoughts, and while he admired her gumption, resolve, and observational skills... she was going to be very hungry tomorrow!


The next morning…

Day One-Hundred Ninety of Infestation — 27th of August, 2182 A.D, Earth Standard Time

Anteros was completely and utterly motionless, as he slept. His lips were pulled back the whole night in a convoluted grin to allow him to breath as he slumbered. A Human would have probably found the rough carpet to be uncomfortable, but having an exoskeleton, as Anteros does, prevents the rug's fibers from being a problem. Sleep had been rather light and barely restful. Not that he actually needed it, mind you; but he slept anyway. After all, even a light sleep can provide the energy needed in case of danger. Or in case the Human girl decided to try and run, which is why Anteros had placed himself in the doorway for his rest. To both protect her and keep her detained.

Anteros woke up. His body shifted ever so slightly, curling inward a bit. He took a deep, long breath, his torso rising, and his lips closed to hide his teeth for the first time in 8 hours.

Another dreamless sleep, he thought, lifting his head. He slowly, and soundlessly, got to his feet in the doorway, lazily stretched his stiff muscles, and sat down, facing the bed. Anteros had never had a "dream" in his life. The only reason he even found out that Humans had them regularly was that he could hear and feel faint thoughts and emotions being emitted from the minds of unconscious Hosts. Though he couldn't understand how or why Human's minds were semi-active during rest, he knew that it was, apparently, like a very faint memory. He didn't know what one of his dreams could possibly be like, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. There was an equally good chance he could have a "nightmare", and judging from the fidgeting and whining of the sleeping Humans who had them, it didn't seem like something he'd want to experience.

Speaking of Humans..., he thought, orienting his head in the direction of his charge. At some point in her sleep she had laid down on her side and gotten under the blanket.

Upon seeing the sleeping woman he was met with a convenient surprise. Instead of howling for her blood, the Ancestral was... well, it was still demanding she be killed, but... it seemed less eager. As if it was getting tired or desensitized to seeing her there and was... he didn't know— getting used to her being around?

Anteros tilted his head as he pondered the reason why. Could it mean that the Ancestral simply believes that all Humans are a threat? And that being around this Human for this amount of time could be proving it wrong somehow? Was it warming up to the female in some way? Or was it just slightly placated that Anteros had the Human within reach and under control, therefore making her a Host, and thus harmless?

The Human moaned quietly in her sleep as she fidgeted a bit, drawing his attention.

Anteros studied her for a moment. He had a good idea of how unconscious Humans should sound like. And he was curious to see how her body had been coping with the past twenty-four hours. You could tell a lot about a living thing's mental state by how they sleep. Her heart was beating slightly faster than it should (probably from all of the adrenaline in her system from yesterday), and it thumped a powerful rhythm, in tempo with every pulse.

Anteros had found that, for the first hour of a human's eight hour rest, the glow of their hearts would slowly brighten, as if "charging an empty battery". Her diaphragm and lungs were at a normal, sleeping pace, and caused her torso to steadily rise up and down with each slow breath. He could also perceive what seemed like translucent outlines of the bones in her ribcage, caused by the neural electricity in her lungs and diaphragm. Sometimes it was almost as if Humans looked entirely like skeletons to him, when he concentrated, and they happened to be sending energy through all of their muscles and bones at once, such as running.

She wasn't dreaming, or having a nightmare, though the latter would have been more obvious to him. Whenever a Human dreams, Anteros could always see faint little electric pulses where their brains were housed.

She was definitely asleep— a light sleep, mind you, but asleep.

Anteros was glad that, somewhere in her head, she felt somewhat safe around him. Or safe enough. Otherwise, her body and sub-conscious wouldn't have allowed her to sleep in the first place. The more logical and dominant part of her mind would most likely disagree with that assumption, but still.

Anteros had been concerned that she would be overtired, seeing as though she had rejected the food offered to her, and seemed adamant to stay awake with him in the room. But, after an hour or so, she finally succumbed to her fatigue. Anteros had thought she would have stayed awake longer, considering that she had been unconscious for about an hour and a half, yesterday, out of injury and exhaustion; but apparently her body didn't think it had had enough rest. Meaning that his worries were unwarranted.

But... she'll still be hungry, he thought, his lower lip curling in a grimace. Fatigue may not have been a cause for concern, for the moment. But hunger would sap her strength. And judging by the way her stomach area would constantly make shriveled, unhealthy looking pulses of cobalt, she could definitely use some sustenance. Anteros had no idea how long she might have gone without food, at this point, but he knew that she would need it, soon. This was not a good state for her to be in, in case one of his Hive-mates got to her, and she couldn't run because of an empty bloody stomach.

Anteros growled quietly and shook his head at the floor. Can't have her die when I still don't know what makes her so different... and I can't have the Unknown going berserk, again, he thought, in distaste. In a small fit of anxiety, Anteros's head swiveled on its joint, and his lips opened to taste the air, searching for any signs of living things nearby. Sensing nothing, he returned to vacantly "gazing" at the human female in question.

Because of her paranoia about poison, he would have to go out and find more food for her. Not that he blamed her for that. Her suspicion was understandable, if a bit illogical. If the smell of undiluted, primal terror that poured from the bodies of the Humans he killed were anything to go by, then the topic of his species was definitely a fear-provoking thought to the hominids.
I don't think I'll ever forget that stench
, he thought. He was certain that if he had a Human nose, he would have lost his sense of smell, long ago. That acrid, gag worthy, scent of fear would probably cause sinus damage.

Anteros remembered smelling his charge's fear yesterday, and hearing the terror-induced thoughts from her mind. His tail impulsively coiled and uncoiled around his legs, banging lightly against the doorway where he sat in contemplation, while he tilted his head to the left. He had just realized something that made him feel like a complete dunce for not doing. Something that seemed so obvious, now.

Why didn't I try talking to her, yesterday?, he asked himself, in confusion at his actions, or... lack of action. He bared his teeth to exhale and inhale, then held his breath, again.

It was... actually quite dumb of him. The moment he had begun to hear her thoughts, when his mind synced up to her brainwave patterns, he could have gone right ahead and talked to her. Quite easily, in fact. In the telepathic terms of his kind's "language", it would have been as simple as plugging a microphone into a machine, and talking... well, thinking, actually. Yet, for some stupid reason, the thought to go ahead and do so never bloody occurred to him! Which is fairly stupid, considering that communication would have saved both of them some grief, yesterday.

Anteros threw the topic out of his mind, and oriented his head at the woman's sleeping form, getting back to the task at hand. Nourishment. He tilted his head at her, thinking. He could... he could wake her up and just tell her to stay here. He would be gone for a while, considering how long it had taken him to find the food for her, yesterday. And she might wake up while he was gone.

But then he would have to deal with her immediate disbelief and shock. She would start yammering about how amazing the fact that he could talk was, and asking how he had been able to do so. A situation that Anteros was not in the mood, nor position for, at the moment. That would take ages to get through, and to be honest, Anteros kind of despised how that always went. Plus, she could attract the attention of one of Anteros's Hive-mates with her yelling. And she would likely yell, incredulously.

Anteros stiffened, and hissed quietly in alarm at the notion of how literally getting into her head might affect him. Trying to kill her had ended up giving him an extremely painful seizure and made the Unknown show up (the presence of which was beginning to give him a headache). And when he was going to allow her to be killed by that Soldier, the Unknown wrenched control away from him and essentially condemned Anteros to a life on the run.

Who bloody knew what could happen if something went awry in telepathic communication?! For all Anteros knew, their heads could explode, or something! Or they could both end up having seizures, this time! Or she could escape while he was writhing on the ground in agony! Or both of them could possibly go crazy!

Okay... finding out how any of this was possible, and how it was caused because of this woman, would be way more complicated than he thought. It would be like trying to guess your way through a minefield. At least for now, until they were both safely off of Guardian, and in a place of little risk, he would have to go without talking to her. This situation was just too new to take chances. Especially when this kind of situation had literally never happened before.

No. No, none of those possible outcomes to attempting communication here would do. Not at all. For the moment, he would just have to find more food for her and try to be quick. He couldn't just offer her the same rejected offering that was under the very bed she was sleeping on. She would just reject it again, and possibly throw it at him instead of at the door. Besides, perhaps a second offering would somehow garner him some trust from her... or at least make her mouth water enough for her to not resist her hunger, anymore.

With his current goal at the fore-front of his mind, Anteros got up onto all fours, turned around, and padded away from the bedroom doorway, toward the apartment entrance. His tail gently dragged the bedroom door shut as he moved away, so as to not disturb her. He rose onto his hind legs as he neared the main entrance to the apartment, and reached out a clawed hand to grip the door handle. He pulled it down, and pushed the door open with a small shove.

Leaping out to land in the hallway with a small hiss, he dragged the door shut by its handle using his tail, again. Anteros tasted the air, and slowly, methodically pivoted on the spot, spinning 360 degrees, his skull facing downwards. It was to allow him to pick up any and all neural electricity from any living things nearby. Just to make sure. He was the only one in the Hive that actually knew how to "direct" his electroreception the way he could. And was thus the only one to benefit from it. He detected nothing except for the sleeping female. Of whom the Ancestral was almost yelling at him to cripple or at least watch, and the Unknown pulsed with sadness at having to leave.

Anteros ignored both of them, growling, and turned to the left to quickly trot down the hallway. His tail slightly stiffening, to counter-balance the elevated pace. As he remembered the mental map of the Hives' territory that he knew very well, he realized something else important that hadn't come to mind, beforehand. Despite his knowledge of the area... he didn't actually know where he could find a way to leave Guardian-625...

As it happens, Anteros had no idea where to begin when it came to off-world transportation. Despite his fairly decent grasp of Human society, as well as many of the things they invented, he honestly wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a power generator and a spacecraft, if he ever ran into either of those. So, despite his knowing the Hive territory like the back of his clawed hand, he didn't really have much experience in the way of massive machinery or vehicles.

So, trying to explore the areas outside the Hive's dominion would be a pointless endeavor, and not just because he didn't have the knowledge for that to be helpful. But also because the Human Colonial Marines had created a ring of death around the territory's border. Smartgunners, Sentry Turrets, SADAR Troopers, Humans called "Snipers" who could kill from a mind-bogglingly long distance, and even large vehicles built for warfare! Such as APC's and Dropships, both capable of causing destruction on a shocking scale.

So... yet again, he was trapped between a rock and a hard place... and this time there would be no easy solution.

Before his thoughts could go much further, something stopped him in his tracks as he was about to get to an intersection in the hallways. He heard something.

He froze, his body tensing, claws digging into the carpet as he snarled in alarm. He swore he had heard... a creak. About twenty yards behind him. Don't tell me..., he thought, hissing, as the back of his skull picked up the telltale flashing of a Human heart. Already knowing what he'd find, he slowly turned around... to face the Human girl that stood outside the apartment door. Frozen. Staring at him in turn. Like a deer caught in the headlights.

Oh fuck, he heard a feminine voice whisper. The Humans' thoughts.

Anteros's muscles tensed up, as his tail stiffened. His legs splayed out a bit, preparing to move quickly. A burn in the back of his head and neck sent flames into his spine as his heart started pumping faster, and adrenaline threatened to send his control out of a window. The Ancestral was setting off all kinds of internal alarms, as if it had completely forgotten that this human had never been a threat.

You're going to run, aren't you?, he thought, dryly. His lips tugging into an odd grimace. He could feel the Unknown shrivel in anxiety and concern for the female, within his mind.

Almost immediately, as if in response, she whipped around and bolted in the opposite direction.

Anteros hissed as he bounded after her…

It was as he picked up speed and transitioned into a full-pelt sprint that he realized something, once more... he could have just used the wardrobe to barricade her in the bedroom, again, but he hadn't... because he forgot...

... God fucking dammit!


You're getting to the good part.

For those of you who might throw a fit about Runners supposedly being able to read a human's thoughts, and communicate with them, allow me to direct your attention to the extended version of Alien 3.

In the extended version of the film, the Dragon (which had spawned from an oxen) had been trapped inside a radiation-proof vault with no escape.

To ensure the film wasn't less than an hour long, one of the characters, Golic, who had supposedly revered the Runner — calling it a "the dragon" — suddenly got it into his head to kill the guy watching over him, kill the guy standing guard outside the vault, and free the Alien.

Fans of the film (including me) came to the conclusion that the Runner had the ability to influence Golic's (and other human's) thoughts and perceptions. I took it one step further by theorizing that the Runner's power comes from its increased telepathic "skill", which it gets from its greater need to communicate with the Queen.

Granted, Golic was a complete nutter, but he's also characterized as being generally harmless. Being crazy doesn't suddenly make you homicidal out-of-the-blue, so I find it reasonable to assume The Dragon was influencing his mind.