Chapter 10: Regicide
Anteros's tail coiled into a spiral and lashed outwards behind his back, repeatedly. Fear and hostility. His mind was beginning to work overtime, trying to make every deduction it could. The two corpses at his feet, the armless one laid atop the impaled, were in the process of deflating and spewing out their acidic contents, quickly sinking into the ground as a growing pool of liquid rapidly dissolved the floor, wisps of green smoke and dust being thrown into the air. Anteros stepped backward, scuffing his feet on the carpet, rubbing off the liquid from his toes.
The Old Soldier that stood ten feet away had, so far, maintained an air of calm and deliberation. It stood on its feet, each limb nearly stock-still, with only the most minute twitch being made by any one extremity. Facing Anteros square-on without even a hint of intent to harm present in its stature. Its arms hung at its sides, with its hands curled into unaggressive fists. Its teeth were concealed completely behind its lips, mouth occasionally grinding its jaws together. Its tail rested on the floor, blade held aloft and waving side-to-side.
Anteros... was scared. More scared than he felt he should be. This Soldier was acting extremely abnormally, enough that it would mark itself as a target among the Hive— enough that Anteros was concerned about it. Oddball behavior was rarely tolerated, as it usually indicated some variety of disease. This... display was enough to make Anteros consider simply walking away or running. His mind reached out and scanned for any indication of the Soldier's intent or mental state. He found... little. Too little. Only the barest, most "flimsy" flecks of curiosity. And a general overtone of suspicion. The Soldier was, seemingly, doing the same thing to Anteros— trying to discern something. Something that had caught its attention enough to give it pause.
Anteros had the distinct impression that he was about to receive some very bad news.
He decided to take a chance on the situation. He dropped to all fours and faced the Soldier side-on, deigning to speak. He did not know what sort of response he expected, but demanded, anyway, "what are you waiting for?".
The Old Soldier's head tilted to one side, freezing up. Its lip twitched. Anteros was caught off-guard when a wave of recognition pulsed outward from its mind and passed over his. For a very long moment, the Soldier seemed to think very hard, before Anteros received a response. But not just any response— a response in English, of all things!
"Not know...". The voice was... utterly neutral and inhuman. It sounded as though it were an exhausted, middle-aged man, speaking from the back of their throat, but with a slight warble and shift in pitch with each syllable. Very... perplexing.
Anteros's fears were simultaneously doubled and undercut by this. Needless to say, this was unprecedented, and warranted cause for alarm, in Anteros's mind. He had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach...
"You... ", the Soldier said, suddenly. "... Anteros... Eye... favored by Nexus... different... ", it said, head beginning to dip downwards as its thoughts became more and more absent due to, inexplicably, putting in the effort to string together the proper words. Something that Anteros had never seen any other Xenomorph do. And it had its own verbiage for things, too! "Eye" seemed to be this Soldier's way of saying "Scout"! The display only made Anteros grow more disturbed. As the male continued to process its thoughts, Anteros could sense that the Solder in front of him was attempting to make a comparison— to liken its knowledge of Anteros with... something...
"Different"? He's saying that both me and him are "different"?, Anteros thought, confused. He finished the Soldier's apparent "sentence" for it, testing the waters further; "like you?", he asked.
The Soldier's head suddenly snapped upward as its attention was brought back to the environment around it.
"Yes...", it replied, not elaborating. It returned to waiting and watching, seemingly unperturbed by the entire debacle. Anteros was racking his brains, trying to figure out how this could be possible. How he could have lived his entire life in the Hive and never encountered this Soldier, before— how this could have escaped Mother's notice. Of course, Anteros was making assumptions... which would be corrected, shortly.
The Soldier had heard Anteros's thoughts, just as he could hear it's, and spoke again, "knew about... me. Was first-born... was... ", it paused, stopping to think for a very long moment, at least a full minute, before finishing, "... Candidate for... becoming mate". It had only just come up with the word "Candidate", for what it was trying to say, apparently. By which it obviously meant "Praetorian".
Now, that... was disconcerting. This Soldier was claiming to have been the first of Mother's children, and claiming to have been selected by her, at some point, for the role of Praetorian. The fact that it obviously wasn't one said something, but the fact that it was still alive also said something else.
If he was tough enough for Mum to consider making him a Praetorian, then he's a lot more dangerous than I thought. But why is he still alive, then? Those that get chosen have to kill the others and fight to the death..., he pondered. Unless... unless there was something about him that made him stick out to Mother— something that made her go against her instincts, and keep him around. If she picked up on my abnormalities... then there's no reason to think she couldn't have detected some in him...
Anteros suddenly felt an immense urge to ask the question, "what's your name?", and did, tone still mired in standoffishness. The fact that this Soldier referred to Mother as "Nexus" meant that it definitely had some grasp of creativity. So it wasn't a massive stretch to assume that it had given itself a name, just as Anteros had. Or that Mother may have named it. He still needed to know how it knew English in the first place, and why it was behaving so strangely.
It couldn't have learned English by listening to any Human's thoughts— only Scouts like Anteros could do that. And Mother could, too, of course— only, she was never in close enough proximity to any Human for long enough to acquire that sort of result.
The Soldier didn't visibly react, but thought very carefully on the inquiry. Anteros did his best to monitor the Soldier's brain activity, trying to figure out what it knew. He was in for a shock when the Soldier exceeded all expectations. It had been listening to Anteros's poorly-hidden train of thought since it had begun to speak, and was much further caught up on the program than Anteros had cared to predict. It actually knew a lot of things that Anteros didn't. And that would be a problem.
It began to speak, again, a bit more quickly, and more fluidly than before, "was spared from death by Nexus, after being beaten by Candidate... was spared because I... chose not to slay competitors... did not learn speech in your way... instead, was close to Nexus. To Queen. Always close to Nexus. Always kept... reserved by Nexus. Listened... listened to Nexus speak with you... many times... could not not listen. Learned. Learned through Nexus... learned through you...", its head shook slightly before concluding, "... was kept hidden... behind... safe... Nexus favored me... Nexus... Nexus... ", it stalled, trying to acquire the wording.
Anteros wondered, so Mother kept this guy literally at her side, in her "throne room"? "Safe" from what, exactly?
It abruptly started again, cutting short Anteros's thoughts; this time, the warble in its mental voice was gone. "Was sent on many tasks. Was... given leadership over Horde. Next to Candidates. Was to be... `insurance`, in case Candidates perished". Anteros, almost as though to spite the elder male, thought to himself, if he was always near her, when and why would she send him out to do her "errands"?
"Was never given name. Nexus hates names... hates prey... hates language... hates all...", it seemed to be becoming very quickly proficient at speaking in words, and was even beginning to outwardly emote and articulate with its body, shoulders and head turning this way and that as each word was produced by its mind. Now that Anteros noticed it, he wondered if it were learning by simply engaging with him.
Anteros, not missing a beat, and endeavoring to milk every bit of information from this interaction as he could, interjected, "... but you don't?", tone intentionally disbelieving. He was just playing things by ear, at this point, and wasn't expecting any particular responses. He just needed information.
The Soldier seemed to... stare at him. At that moment, the elder male's thoughts became distinctly more difficult to get a bead on, and it eventually responded, "... no". Anteros wasn't given the chance to inquire at this, when the Soldier continued, "... but... have no love for them, either".
So, if Anteros understanding everything correctly, thus far: it didn't hate Humanity (not to any great extent, at least), was independently-minded enough to actively separate its motives from Mother, and had shown absolutely no aggression up to and including this point, indicating that it had a uniquely underdeveloped sense of anger— possibly more-so than Anteros, himself.
How the Hell had this all happened?! When?! How did all of this escape his notice, before?! He almost felt insulted— as though the Soldier in front of him were stealing his thunder! He might have felt significantly less "special", even, if he weren't so miffed about never getting clued in! Granted... he'd spent ninety percent of his time running around the Hive territory and scouting... and was rarely in Mother's egg-laying room... and rarely participated in battles... and had never taken a vested interest in his Hive-Mates, beyond trying to hide his self-awareness...
Huh... might be my own fault, then..., Anteros thought, growling to himself. He bared his teeth. It doesn't matter. I just need to find out what idiot knows and whether this'll mean trouble.
Anteros knew that he was getting close to completing the "picture" of this situation, but felt as though he were missing some piece of the puzzle, here— some crucial detail to this mystery. There was something about this Soldier that gave Anteros a certain feeling of... of... it were as though he were steadily catching on to something about the elder male that was simply... not openly apparent.
Anteros sat down on his haunches, thinking. The corpses of the females in front of him had finally dropped to the floor below; leaving a massive, gaping hole in the hallway, creating a large, six-foot gap that could only be leapt across to traverse. The only way to get the answers he wanted was to ask... so he did.
"How much do you know about me?", Anteros inquired, tone considerably more calm than before.
The Soldier seemed to have finally mastered proper prose, even managing to change its tone on certain words, "enough to understand why you were not killed, immediately".
That... caught Anteros's attention.
It elaborated, sensing his confusion, "the Nexus knew of your... revelations, in the Birthing Chambers. She knew of your... shortfalls. Knew that you were calmer than the Horde— knew that you had no... enjoyment in your role. She believed that I was... the same way, but different, still— even compared to you", it stated, seeming to almost become... cocky. "The Nexus thought that you would be useful. That you would remain tied— remain... loyal. Thought that you would have no choice... ". The Soldier seemed to... pause, not knowing how to continue with the point it may have been trying to make. It wasn't even sure if it was trying to make a point.
Anteros wasn't so much reeling as he was outraged and disturbed. How could he have underestimated Mother so... badly? How could he not have seen it... how could this be happening? Anteros, choosing to shut down the averse reaction he was having, pushed his confusion and shock to the side, instead favoring his anger, and used it to push himself into action. Said "action" came about in the form of demanding, "and what exactly makes you different than me, then, huh?! Why weren't you killed the moment Mum found out about you?!".
The Soldier remained stoic and replied, unhurriedly, "the Nexus never... specified. Never talked to me about it. She only... remarked to herself that fact. I think... I think... ", it stalled, abruptly shaking its head, vigorously, and hunching over. Anteros could sense a great amount of mental effort coming from it. It was trying very hard to... hypothesize. To theorize. Something that made Anteros feel a bit of fear. Seeing something that reminded him of himself— seeing such... internal struggle be repeated by another of his own kind... it was sobering— perturbingly so. The Soldier kept thinking to itself, not truly acknowledging Anteros's presence. The more it thought, the more collected its thoughts became.
Eventually, it stood up a bit straighter, and said, in a voice that hinted at an amount of curiosity, "I think that where you have little rage and no joy in your station... I have no rage and more joy... ". The sentence was... clunky and a bit out-of-the-blue... but it got the message across. Before Anteros could even begin to consider its words, the Soldier added, "at first, my abnormalities were of little notice. But, when you started having... fits, the Nexus made comparison, and knew me to be unique".
It lifted a hand, vaguely gesturing, "I do not know why I am... calmer. Or why you are... defecting. I do not think that it would be important". It seemed to ponder to itself for a long moment, before adding, "we are... unique...".
"We think before we act. We are able to plan, like the Nexus. We are able to discern alternatives, and fight like the Candidates. We are able to... disregard the Ancient... we are... ", it paused, head tilting to one side, "... superior". It seemed satisfied with that proclamation. As though it had found some amount of evidence to support a previously-conceived idea it had had.
While Anteros agreed with the Soldier's assessment in an objective sense, he still put forth the question, "what makes you reckon that?".
The Soldier, barely having to think for more than a second, replied, "you have made your own proof".
Anteros... could see how him killing two Soldiers, on his own, despite being a Scout, would be impressive, but he sensed that the male in front of him was talking about something else, also...
The Soldier, apparently picking up on it, elaborated, "you slew a Claw, but barely flinched even as you became Exile to the Horde... ". Anteros was... confused for a moment or two, before he realized that it was talking about Gangshi. And that "Claw" was its term for "Soldier". It continued, unaware of his conclusions (likely out of still focusing on speech), "... and you deceived the Nexus... ", it seemed to... pause... purposefully— as though to drop a hint. Its sentence ended with a slightly poignant inflection... Anteros inquired, bluntly, and a bit dumbly, "what?".
The Soldier was unflinching as it responded, almost as though to verbally attack him, "the Human female". Tone, utterly neutral— no aggression or spite, whatsoever, and yet it made Anteros's esophagus contract in shock. Samantha...
In a different circumstance, it might have brought him a bit of joy or satisfaction to find that this minor "breach of cover" was enough to cause him concern over his Human's safety.
Anteros made a noise halfway between a snarl and a choke, out of sheer perplexity. This revelation brought more surprise than fear. He knew that him walking with Samantha would bring confusion to the trio, but he thought that that would be it. Confusion. But this Soldier was implying that it recognized her— that... that... How could he possibly... no. No, there's no way he could... this can't be possible! If Anteros were thinking a bit more clearly, he would have realized that the Soldier knowing about him not killing Samantha, as ordered, didn't actually matter, that much. It was simply that this surprise was already compounded onto every other surprise that he'd been given in the past five minutes.
The elder male spoke to explain its meaning, seeming to ignore Anteros's internal breakdown, "... had leadership over group that chased the female from its hole. Knew that you were assigned to kill it". He could sense that it had much more to say. That it felt rather motivated to keep speaking — keep stretching its linguistic legs — and keep up the interaction for as long as possible. Anteros could tell that the Soldier in front of him was experiencing a fair amount of stimulation from this encounter. Fun. Out of curiosity. Out of a form of interaction that it had never indulged in, before.
At this point, Anteros was becoming very, very tired of constantly being surprised by things. He hated surprises. He hated revelations. He hated violent upheavals to reality. He hated being caught off-guard. He hated feeling unbalanced. He'd gotten enough of surprises back when his mind was "sandblasted" for minutes on-end by hundreds of Human emotions and ideas, at once. Thus, it wouldn't be surprising to know that Anteros was beginning to get the urge to simply cut the conversation short and walk away. It had just now occurred to him that, after all... nothing about the Hive would matter, shortly!
He and Sam were on their way out the door! It was high-time that they simply cut the dead weight and got the Hell out of this place!
So, it was with utter tiredness that Anteros suddenly demanded, ranting and putting a stop to any thought of speech in the Soldier, "what do you want? Are we done, here? Can I leave, now? 'Cause I have things to do, yeah? I'm not too keen on standing around here, and chatting just to satisfy your own whims. So, either kill me and be done with it, or bugger off and go back to your precious Nexus". Anteros knew that he would likely come up short if the pair of them came to blows. And, while he would like to avoid a fight and simply leave, he knew that there was no way the Soldier didn't plan on taking his life.
The elder male paused, and seemed to become somewhat nonplussed. It had completely forgotten the reason why it had come here in the first place, and the moment it remembered its task, it suddenly displayed what could only be reluctance. Hunched over shoulders, bared teeth, and tail smacking against either wall in a fit of what might have been a hint of frustration. It didn't like having its fun spoiled, and was likely struggling with emotions that it had never fully considered, before. But, the more that its purpose for being here was considered by the male, the less tumultuous its thoughts grew.
Eventually, it seemed to come to a singular conclusion. It spoke to Anteros, "you will die... but... ", apparently implementing what it deemed to be a voice it "preferred". Deep, calm, and almost Human. It could have been mistaken for an average, middle-aged man... but there was a certain... drawl to its tone that somehow managed to convey the fact that it was merely an imitation of a Human's vocals. A dispassionate "borrowing", rather than any sort of tribute or ode.
Anteros was surprised to see that, in a deep corner of the Soldier's mind, its true desire out of this entire thing was rather blatantly exhibited. A desire that, even it, itself, didn't truly understand. It was linked to a growing affinity for the state of independence it had been cultivating over the course of its existence. Independence from the Hive, from Mother... from everything. For the sensation of being "special". Unique. Superior. The Soldier wanted a name of its own. If Anteros had to hazard a guess... this desire was merely one step in the development of a unique personality. Of various schema and behavioral inclinations...
This brought Anteros... something akin to a mix between sorrow, regret, and frustration. If he had known this Soldier... if he had met it at some point, before now... he might not have felt so lonely for all of those months.
It was almost ironic, how being surrounded by thousands of your own kin, yet unable to truly speak to any of them (and expect a real response), could make one feel so... isolated.
He inquired, "you want me to give you a name?".
The Soldier confirmed, "yes". Its teeth became concealed, again, as it straightened up.
Anteros pried, "would it not be more satisfying to give yourself a name?".
It thought for a moment.
"No... no, I don't think it would be, if I did... ", it replied. It was sure of its answer, but wasn't sure about the rationale behind it.
Anteros had named Gangshi "Gangshi" because it was the name of an ancient, mythological, undead creature from a place called "Korea". A sort of vampire that would absorb the "life-force" of living creatures. Mythology seemed a decent enough basis for names, given how much Nigel had loved it. And there were plenty of things to take inspiration from. Zombies, Ghouls, Revenants, Ghosts— that sort of thing. So... Anteros only saw fit to continue that "theme". And when he observed the large, elder, male Soldier in front of him, who more or less showed him what he might have become, if things had turned out differently... only one name seemed appropriate...
Anteros stood up to all-fours, and faced the elder male square-on, sucking in a long breath, as though in summation of a sigh. He did his best to bury the word he was thinking of in the recesses of his subconscious, such that it would be a "surprise" when he said it. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to perform such ceremony, but... he did. He didn't know why he was indulging this Soldier's wish, when he could be running away or going to find Samantha, but... Anteros supposed that this was his way of cutting off his ties to the Hive. He supposed that he was somewhat choosing to think of this one last service to a Hive-mate as a "goodbye" to what had been his home for his entire life, thus far. A way to separate himself from this... from these old wounds... and old ghosts.
"Lich".
The Soldier bodily twitched at the registering of the word. "Lich?", it repeated.
"That's your name. Lich", Anteros replied, in a resigned, though comfortable tone. He briefly broadcasted the meaning of the word, its origins, and his reasons for coming up with it— flippantly. Akin to writing it down on a slip of paper and then throwing it at the recipient. The Soldier seemed content to ponder its new designation, for the moment. Anteros turned about on the spot and began to walk away, heading in the direction Samantha had run. He'd have to find her-... oh... she appeared to be standing far off down the hallway, observing the interaction.
In fact, he could just about hear the whispers of her thoughts from this distance— fifty-seven feet away. He wasn't sure when she'd decided to double-back and inspect the aftermath of the fight, but he was glad to see that she hadn't been caught, if nothing else. She was understandably confused... and cautious. She appeared to have dropped off the apples and medical case, somewhere— they'd have to go and find those, later.
Anteros arbitrarily ignored the presence of Lich. Choosing to put the whole conversation behind him. He would be ready if Lich chose to pursue, but for now, he decided to simply blow it off and walk away.
Lich may have indeed pursued his quarry, were it not for the events taking place eighty kilometers away, in the heart of the Hive...
Zazin-Vor'mekta had finally found his way to the Queen's chamber. It was a fairly trivial task, after the Royal Guards were taken care of. All he had to do was sprint as fast as he could and bat aside anything that leapt at him. At one point, he'd been forced to properly execute the Sweeping Barrier technique when a few too many Sain'ja got in his way, but that only slowed him down by a few moments. Ultimately, too many of the Hive's defenders were outside of the Nest, fighting off the Oomans. If circumstances were a bit different, it may have been more difficult for him.
T'was not to be.
Eventually, he found the Queen's chamber. He ran through a set of broken, warped mechanical doors, and halted himself the moment he crossed the threshold.
And there she was, situated at the far end of the chamber. The room appeared to have been some variety of hangar, at least two-hundred noks long and a hundred wide. The matriarch stood amidst the hollowed out remains of a discarded Ovipositor— the outer-membrane being all that was left. The remnants of the Queen's "throne", the raised platform of mucus and the various organic struts framed her body like a protective cage. A small horde of Drones surrounded their mother, barking and screeching at him. The instant he'd come within line of sight, however, the Queen hissed, long and loud. And at this noise, her underlings began to turn tail and file out of the chamber through an exit behind and to the right of the Queen— apparently ordered to leave the room.
Whether it did this because it knew its time was short, or for the purpose of preserving its children, Zazin-Vor'mekta didn't care to speculate. Either way, the beast stood atop the husk of its embryonic refuse, and bared its fangs— filling the air around it with steam as it released a heart-shuddering roar.
No sooner had the tyrant issued its challenge than Zazin's' Plasma-Caster took aim— firing every shot in its cartridge, targeted at the thing's head, as fast as the weapon's mechanism could allow; having to waste precious seconds to lock back onto the target after every shot. Such was the drawback of the "grenadier model". Each bomb lazily arced a path toward the Ahgai'Palak Queen, the room being more than large enough for Zazin' to take pot-shots as he pleased. Four explosives, one after the other, all connected with the tyrant's crest as she wailed in rage.
Every impact, every detonation struck the Queen like the fists of an angry Gro'Tye— beating her down and roasting the flesh on her skull. If there was one thing that served as a weakness in Kiande Admeha Queens, it was that their heads were far too heavy to sustain much blunt force. It was like attempting to support a large animal's weight on one end of a quarter-staff. Enough abuse, and it would break their necks.
Each bomb fired from his shoulder-mounted weapon shined a bright yellow as they flew— white, in Zazin's' vision, due to the black and white shading from his Bio-Mask's current vision mode. Every explosion was near-defeaning; the shockwaves of which could be felt even from where Zazin' stood, two-hundred noks away. Faint ripples that he may have registered, had he not been wearing armor.
When all four shells in the Plasma Caster had been fired, Zazin' was quick to tear another from the bandolier on his chest with his left arm, and reach up to shove it into the cannon's ammunition drum. Just as he finished doing so, the beast had begun to charge at him. The Queen stood up from her throne, breaking the series of Hive Resin supports that had been constructed around her, the shards of mold being sent in every which direction.
The entirety of her crest and face was reduced to acid-soaked bone, many of her teeth were shattered or missing, and her jaw appeared to be dislocated. Overall: not nearly enough damage. The Ahgai'Palak rumbled and screeched her fury at the Yautja before her.
Its arm-span was wide enough to hug a small building. It stood at more than thrice Zazin's height, at the shoulder, and could kill him with one well-placed swing of its talons. Its tail was an even bigger threat— able to twist, curve, curl, and move impossibly fast, and with an absurd amount of precision. The creature's sheer bulk alone could crush him and was a danger in and of itself. Zazin-Vor'mekta's work was cut out for him. And he had to get it done, fast, and get out before he ended up trapped.
Zazin's upper-left mandible pressed and held on a particular button on his Bio-Mask. Tapping it would make his Plasma Caster lock on to a target in his sight and fire, immediately, but he kept applying pressure. A trio of lines spun into his vision as the cannon on his shoulder began to charge a shot— generating supplementary heat and a bright yellow glow in its barrel. Off-loading energy into the chambered explosive and enhancing the payload. The triangular reticle in his sight began to track his eye-movements, as an upward whine started emanating from the Plasma-Caster.
Zazin-Vor'mekta swiftly turned off his Plasma Glaive and threw it over his right shoulder, gripping onto one end of it. He then took off in a sprint— charging full-pelt toward the giant Kiande Admeha. His legs pumped fiercely, and the world was deafened by the sound of blood in his ears. Likewise, the beast was already halfway across the chamber, and still charging toward him. Each step shook the ground, but Zazin' had managed to run great distances in spite of hundreds of mortar cannons pounding the earth around him. This was more than manageable.
The closer he got to the Queen, the slower he approached. First to a brisk jog, then down to a fast-paced stride. But even as the beast stopped its charge in front of him, its head almost just above his own, arm raising up to come down and end his life, he never lost sight of his target. "Sight" being the operative word.
His eyes focused onto the underside of the Serpent Queen's neck, guiding the laser that was set into his Bio-Mask, above and behind his right eye. As the Kiande Admeha conveniently stretched itself upwards to wind up its arm, the guiding laser and Plasma-Caster were aimed at its jugular. Just as its left arm began to swing downwards in a wide arc, a hair-length away from cutting a gash in the metal flooring, his mandible released its hold on the button... and his Plasma-Caster fired... just as he managed to throw himself backwards, tossing his Plasma Glaive off to his right, out of the way.
The charged shot was super-heated and fired with extra speed and force— a brief particulate trail of bright, white plasma-sparks accompanied the explosive's bright yellow glow. A glow that rivaled the sun, itself, for the briefest of moments, before it detonated upon contact with the Queen's throat.
Zazin', for his part, was already in the process of rolling to his feet and backpedaling, helped along by the shockwave of the blast. He briefly turned around to examine the entrance he had come in through, only to find no pursuers, and spun back about to his target. As he turned around to face forward he stepped backward a few paces, carefully estimating the distance he'd have to stand at. A cloud of blood and smoke obscured the Queen, but he wasn't concerned.
He heard a loud gurgle... then a long series of bangs and thumps, as a great weight vibrated through the floor. The front half the Kiande Admeha's head and face burst through the cloud and dropped to the floor, just in front of his feet. When the smoke cleared, he saw the results of his gamble. The Queen's head was attached to the rest of its body by a comically-small strand of flesh and bone— the end of its neck being nearly completely decimated. No throat to breath through, and since it didn't have any dorsal tubes... it was going to slowly suffocate. Plus, its spinal chord was likely damaged. Its body was twitching and spasming loudly in a heap of acid... and drool.
Zazin-Vor'mekta did not stop to admire the kill, and turned around to walk away from he growing pool of acidic blood, to the right to pick up his Glaive. It wasn't his most... grandiose achievement. Besides... he now needed to find a quick way out of this place. After grabbing the weapon, and putting it over his shoulder, again, a glance to the left side of his heads-up-display revealed a "column" of thin, blue lines that showed his suit's energy reserves. Half-way depleted.
Well... that's that..., he thought. He was about to start walking back the way he'd come, but then he remembered something...
He turned and paced around the Queen's carcass, it taking a few moments to circumvent the immense obstacle, before he caught sight of the remains Ovipositor. He frowned behind his Bio-Mask as he struggled to think of a way of transporting a sample of the thing's fluids...
An immense, dull pain throbbed within the entirety of Anteros's skull. It made him stop in his tracks and stay stock-still. He had just told Samantha to "not worry about it" when she inquired about Lich as the two were walking away down the hall, but... so abruptly and with such speed... he suddenly came to the disturbing conclusion...
Mother is dead...
Literally as fast as one snaps their fingers, any presence that the greater Hive-Mind had in his head was gone. It had always been there, for as long as he'd been alive— the subtle pressure and surrounding, comforting influence of the telepathic web. The infinite, all-consuming tendrils and links and connections that tied all members of the Hive together and to their Queen. Yet, now... it was gone. Just... gone. The only indication of which was an ache that seemed to pulse in his own gray-matter, but even that was beginning to subside. And in its place was... nothing. An empty void of... no— not a "void"... a blank space. A vacant lot. An empty pocket.
He heard a distant screech and sensed that Lich was quickly sprinting away. Samantha whipped around to see the Soldier running off, quickly becoming a speck in the distance.
That's when he noticed that his telepathic link to Samantha's brain-waves was... wavering. Flickering. Shaking, as though the "reception" was being thrown off. He preemptively focused all of his attention onto her mind, stretching his mental presence and "wrapping" as many "tendrils" around her mind as he could manage, snarling, unknowingly— reacting to the possibility of losing his link to her. He found that his ability to do so was... stronger than before. As if his capacity for attaching his mind to others was... "freer". It were as though a series of strings tied between him and Mother had been snipped. And now... now he had much more "rope" to work with...
He couldn't tell you where he was getting these analogies from, but they explained the situation adequately— even if the reality of it was immensely more complex...
In his fervor to keep the link between him and his companion strong, his empathic "grip" tightened to an extreme degree. The idea of being unable to speak to the one being in the universe that had ever understood him on a fundamental level was utterly terrifying to him. So he "held on" with every ounce of effort that he could muster. Even as his perception of the world shrunk and everything in his being was concentrated onto the woman beside him... the connection still grew weaker.
Samantha suddenly doubled over, clutching at her cranium and grunting. She was abruptly stricken with one bitch of a migraine! And it soon grew much worse than that! It was starting to feel as though some rabid insect had hatched inside her skull and was squirming, biting, stinging its way out! Soon enough she was on her knees, nails digging into her scalp as she screamed, moaned, and hyperventilated. All she could think of was a sensation that felt as though her skull was splitting into thousands of fragments, shards of bone stabbing into her brain.
Sam, outwardly, appeared to be having a severe nervous breakdown. Wide, unseeing eyes, pale skin, spasming limbs, tears, bared and gritted teeth, bright-red face, and profuse sweating. But inside, it was so much worse. And it kept going on and on and on! For almost a minute!
She had never felt this amount of agony. Not when her leg had been broken in grade school, not when a Xenomorph had clawed her in the face, and not when she'd been crushed under a few hundred pounds of rubble. This... this was a special kind of suffering...
Is this what Hell is like?
Eventually, and just as the experience was beginning to reach a new height of pain... it stopped. Just as fast as it had come, the pain and the fear were washed away. Like the snap of one's fingers. A sweeping wave of calm and cold and relaxation spread over Samantha's body, starting from the top of her head, all the way down to her toes. The pain was gone. The nightmare: gone.
Samantha collapsed, her forehead coming down to touch the floor, before she slumped onto her side. Somehow, she felt, both, rejuvenated and exhausted, at the same time. As though someone had injected caffeine directly into her skull, yet the rest of her body had gone lethargic and lax.
Anteros "let go" the instant he felt the connection be restored to full-strength. It was like the "signal strength" went from "no bars" to "all bars" in little more than a second. He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded, or if the entire experience was merely something that would have come and passed, regardless, but he was relieved that it was over. The instant Samantha was laying on her side, he impulsively pulled himself into a kneeling position behind her and drew her unmoving body into his arms, hugging her torso to his chest— her head cradled comfortably in his left hand. Her left arm hung down to the floor, limply— her right arm draped across her stomach.
He knew that she was okay, but... he felt the need to say "sorry". As such, his "snout" pressed itself against her cheek. The same cheek that had a trio of scars marring her face.
No... Hell would be worse than this..., she decided, smiling to herself. There was still a buzz in her head that made her feel very awake and lucid, but... taking a long nap seemed like a really good idea, at the moment.
Samantha, for her part, was simply glad that the pain was gone. She wasn't entirely concerned about what that whole thing was— just... appreciative of being safe, in the arms of a friend. Anteros... didn't see a reason to rush or expedite the moment. They had nothing but time, now...
Anteros crouched there, and waited for Samantha to recuperate. Or, thought about doing so. He could tell that she was teetering on the edge of sleep— tempted to simply take a nap, considering the fact that she felt particularly safe at the moment. He found the idea of being "safe" in the arms of a "Xenomorph" to be an oxymoron, and had trouble understanding her "logic". He'd have to disagree with her assessment, anyway.
They weren't out of the woods, yet, despite their biggest threat being nullified, so Anteros decided to give her a "pinch" and get her moving, again. There would be plenty of time to rest once they left Guardian, anyway... and he himself was starting to feel the slightest ghost of fatigue on his shoulders.
He didn't often become tired.
His snout came away from her cheek as his lips peeled back to reveal his fangs. His head awkwardly tucked into his chest as his teeth gently bit down on her upper arm for a brief moment— taking care not to touch the bandage over her wound. And not to draw blood.
Her only reaction was to grunt and frown, her arm recoiling. Lucky that he hadn't applied much pressure, else a good swath of flesh would have been torn off in her impulse. He chuffed, warm air blowing on her arm. They had to get moving sooner rather than later. And he wasn't too keen on the idea of carrying her wherever it was they needed to go. He could, but considering the fact that they didn't exactly have a real destination, at the moment, he would rather avoid such a thing.
He'd have to ask whether she knew of any way off of Guardian... preferably one that didn't involve going anywhere near the military blockade around the Hive territory.
He wasn't sure if such a thing were possible... and he'd rather get started on finding that exit as soon as possible...
Yes, they (potentially) had an indefinite amount of time in which to dawdle, given that Mother is dead. But the Hive wouldn't stay disorganized forever. The members of the Hive would flounder for a good while, but a new Queen would soon emerge (how he knew this, he wasn't entirely sure). And Anteros wasn't one to waste time. Or... he liked to think of himself as the sort that made good use of every spare millisecond.
He spoke, "Sam... we need to get moving, alright?", in a patient tone.
She sighed through her nose, but didn't move, at first...
After a moment or two, her left hand pressed itself on the floor and she rolled herself out of his arms, onto her hands and knees. Anteros shifted and sat down on the spot, as he watched the Human be overcome with a small bit of sudden vertigo. Supporting her weight was difficult, at first, but she quickly surmounted her lethargy.
Shaking her head, Samantha rocked back onto her booted heels and took a deep breath, rubbing her face. She then began to stretch her arms, shoulders, and waist, producing small "crack" noises as her joints popped. As she did, she asked absentmindedly, without having opened her eyes or moved from her kneeling position, "where are we going?".
"We... are leaving Guardian-625", Anteros reminded her, matter-of-factly.
She started leaning backwards, reaching her arms back toward the wall and gripping the painted surface with her finger-tips. She began walking her hands further downward, until she felt the carpet, and raised her hips upward when her hands were braced completely flat on the floor, just behind her feet. She frowned, eyes still closed. "Oh", she said, voice strained from the taxing position. "Right...", she seemed— almost as though she didn't think such a thing to be plausible.
But, internally, it suddenly became very apparent to her that there wasn't much of a choice, otherwise, and she didn't really have any better ideas.
As far he could tell, there was nothing on Guardian that she had any stock in that wasn't ended by the Infestation, and thus, she had no reason to stay. Which... seemed odd to him, given her previous attachment to trying to find her dog. Now, though, as she proceeded to begin sitting up straight, there was almost no echo of the subject in her mind. She could have forgotten, but Anteros didn't find that likely. He'd have to investigate, later.
Anteros thought about clarifying that she would always have a say in their decision-making, but decided against it, since she herself couldn't find any reason to disagree with the course of action. In fact, it was as though she... expected to be ordered around. Which she seemed ambivalent to. Either, she was used to being subservient to others, or she simply trusted his judgement.
Anteros was inclined to take the middle-route and theorize that it was a mix of both. He spoke:
"Do you know of any way to get off-planet?", he asked.
Samantha straightened up and slouched considerably in her kneeling position, sighing loudly after the tenuous stretch. Her eyes opened, and she absently stared at the wall in front of her, frowning. She rolled her left shoulder as she gave the question some thought.
The more that Sam thought about it, the more she acknowledged leaving Guardian to be the best option. From her brief encounters with other survivors of the Territory, and what they'd told her, the USCMC had established a massive blockade around the circumference of the XHT. Granted, any survivor of the Infestation knew that, since, for almost a month after the Infestation started, frequent broadcasts of various warnings and directions were piped through the city-wide P.A system in New Scena, Dimidirupt, and Tenvis.
They eventually stopped, after it became clear that no survivors (if there were any) would able to heed any of the advice being channeled. The last thing that the military deigned to communicate to the (mostly empty) halls of the XHT was the fact that no one could enter or leave the Territory without having to get past the blockade. And that it would be best to avoid the outskirts of the XHT, since most of the battles between the Hive and the military took place there. It was also strongly suggested that any and all survivors simply keep on the lookout for any patrols that were sent into the Hive, in order to be rescued.
The blockade, essentially, was a no-go-zone for Xenos and survivors, alike.
Which mostly meant: there were a lot of Sentry Guns. Anything that moved into line-of-sight of the barricades in question would be turned into perforated Swiss cheese.
If Samantha and Anteros were to head in the direction of the frontline, they'd likely be shot to pieces before any Human soldier could confirm a civilian contact. Plus... she wasn't optimistic about having to explain Anteros's "defection" from the Hive. That... would not go over well. They'd probably sooner shoot at Anteros than listen to her story about how she and him had met.
Besides, even if she got herself and Anteros out of the Territory... where would they even go? She wouldn't imagine that many shelters or charities would provide asylum for a Xenomorph. And she... didn't exactly have any real prospects or assets on Guardian.
Samantha was what was known as a "Shuttle Shifter". Meaning... she was basically a vagabond/nomad who carried all of her belongings on her person and would hitch rides on freighters and space-ports to various planets every few months, doing odd-jobs to get by, and generally not staying on any one planet for very long. Though, she'd been unique, in that: A) it wasn't her only option in life, just the one she chose, B) she was a woman where most Shifters were men, and C) she'd had a constant companion in the form of her dog.
Shuttle Shifters were typically the sort who denied any loyalty to nations or governments— people who were after some extremely specific goal that they would never achieve if they took root in any one place. Well... that was what she knew Shuttle Shifters to be. The rest of Human-Occupied Space saw them as untrustworthy, glorified hobos. Which was inaccurate. She'd never met a Shuttle Shifter who was addicted to any substances— nor any who were alcoholics. They were just... people who sought their destiny outside of creature comforts or habitual nine-to-fives.
Most Shuttle Shifters did seem to be constituents to a philosophy called "Idio-Galvanism", though— one which she herself subscribed to.
She'd become a Shuttle Shifter because she... simply felt that she didn't belong in any one spot. She loved her family to death, but no matter what comfort they brought... she'd always felt something was missing. She didn't know whether to chalk it up to "the grass is always greener on the other side", or something (which, as the years went by, she was starting to believe to be the case, more and more strongly). Since she graduated high school, though, her destination-less journey was firmly set in stone.
It had been her longest aspiration to "find where I most belong, find where I am most happy, then make a family, there". Her only misgiving was not properly saying "goodbye" when she took off.
Ironic, then, that it was only after Charlie's disappearance that she realized something painfully simple. It's not about "where" you belong. It's about the people around you. Long ago, from a fellow Shuttle Shifter, she'd been told: "if you have found the people with whom you most belong, you are home. No matter where that may be". At the time, she'd taken "people" to mean "community", but... she didn't think that to be strictly true, anymore. Now... she was fairly certain that "people" could mean anything from a single companion to a crew like-minded confidants.
The point was: she had no home on this planet, no special affection for it, and all of her relatives were lightyears away— either on Earth or colony worlds. The only reason she'd been caught in the Infestation was simply because she'd come to the wrong planet, at the wrong time. She'd only just gotten an actual job, here, too— before everything kicked off, and shit hit the fan.
Simply leaving the planet did seem to be the best option.
But how? The only thing she could think of was to check and see if there were any private shuttles or freighters still left in a hangar, somewhere. Every ten kilometers, all situated in a grid pattern, across the surface of Guardian's megacity of cities, there was, inevitably, a hangar. A space-port.
Most of them, on most days, were strictly used for taking in and shipping out supplies to and from other planets with cargo freighters and shuttles. Guardian-625 couldn't produce much of its own food, beyond processed garbage, so it took in a lot of trade in the form of food products from other colonies. Whereas most other colonies didn't have access to many of the more advanced technologies that Guardian had. It was a very lucrative business.
Only a few of these space-ports were actually used for transporting people— too few. As such, when the Infestation started, and people clogged up the hangars used for transport... a lot of refugees were left out in the cold. Including herself. After that happened, she'd went into panic mode and made a bee-line for the alleged weapons-cache on the other end of the New Scena, before anyone else beat her to it— to prepare for the shitstorm she knew would come.
It was a common pass time, amongst Shuttle Shifters, to exchange stories, after all. Especially those about Xenomorphs.
And then, well... she shot a police officer with a shotgun, by accident... so... that was pretty dismal. She didn't even have time to come to terms with having killed a person— then or since. Couldn't even grab many more munitions before having to run after Charlie, who subsequently ran off and disappeared forever. She didn't even know the reason why he did it, either...
All because city-planners and corporations in charge of all this shit didn't take into account disaster-prevention measures beyond "catch a train to a different city".
It was a fatal flaw that had been criticized many times, over the years— people always campaigned to make the hangars and space-ports more flexible in the case of a catastrophe. Too little, too late, to be honest.
Samantha looked to her left, at the alien sitting on its haunches, patiently waiting for her to respond to its inquiry. A brief lapse of surprise came over her without indication. It was always a bit of a shock when the person who sounded so Human looked like an alien creature and had no eyes. She forced her own eyes to focus on the area of Anteros's head just above his mouth— his "forehead". She stared at him for a long moment as she thought of what to say.
Eventually, her gaze abruptly fluttered about, this way and that, in her typical fashion, as she responded, shrugging, "I guess we could try searching random hangars 'til we find a ship that someone left behind, but... ", her eyes focused back onto her savior after pausing, "... I don't know how lucky we'd be to find anything". She was skeptical, naturally. She usually was, whenever a gamble had to be taken. "Expect the worst, and you'll never be disappointed", after all.
Now that she brought up hangars... Anteros suddenly remembered a very specific hangar, somewhere around The Apartments, that had always piqued his curiosity. Wanting an additional opinion on the small phenomenon, he endeavored to voice his thoughts to the Human in front of him. Anteros stood up to all-fours and began to slowly pivot on the spot, lowering his head to be perpendicular to the floor, scanning the area around them. His senses reached outward, and his breathing became a modicum louder as infrasound pulsed from his skull more intensely.
Anteros did this for a good forty seconds, rotating on the spot with his tail dragging on the floor, trying to get a sense for where exactly they were. He also tilted his neck up and down, slowly, "pointing" his skull's domed surface in as many directions as possible to expand his sensory field. He imagined that, if Samantha knew what he were doing, she'd liken it to a satellite dish pointing itself in various directions as a means to scan.
He could feel every source of electricity within the immediate vicinity. Every lightbulb, every home appliance, every cable and fridge, every ventilation system, and every rat or mouse that had the nerve to make a home in this part of the planet. His world was one inundated with countless lights and shapes and landmarks created by him. A giant, three-dimensional map of anywhere and everywhere he'd ever been. Every step he'd taken came with a careful consideration of every new light and every new angle in the endless labyrinth of Guardian-625's megastructures.
Anteros had explored the majority of the Territory, and knew it with as much ease as the average person knew their own home.
Such was his lot as a Scout. He likely had a natural sense of direction that far surpassed most others of his kind.
Anteros knew exactly where he and Samantha were, in relation to the rest of the Hive's territory. And he knew exactly where to go. As such, he ceased in his "scanning" and thought of the best path in which to walk to get to their destination quickest. He stood stock-still, Samantha still kneeling on the ground to his right. From what he could estimate... the direction they'd been walking just before they were accosted by the three Soldiers was ideal...
He turned on the spot and sat down, addressing the Human before him, "I think I might know of something like that", his tone pensive.
Samantha shifted about and sat down in front of him, legs crossing over each other. "Really?", she asked, skeptically. Anteros could tell she wasn't actually skeptical, just putting it on in a habit of generating a back-and-forth. His head tilted to one side, jaws opening to breathe, as his tail waved about above and behind his head, from side-to-side.
He spoke, "there's this one hangar, about ten kilometers from here that may have a ship inside of it...", making sure to convey his own uncertainty, given that he couldn't be one-hundred percent sure of the truth in that statement.
Samantha raised an eyebrow at him, scratching at the scars on her cheek absently, "`may` have a ship in it? How do you not know whether there is one?", she asked, inoffensively.
Anteros chuffed, as he made a show of "looking" off to his right, responding, "I've never been inside it. Every vent and door into the thing was always locked up tight, and none of my Hive-mates could open them, successfully. The entire place was shut so air-tight that none of us could see very far inside with echolocation. But... that's not the weirdest thing about it", he said.
He elaborated, "back near the beginning of the Infestation, before there were any proper Egg-Chambers, and before I was born, a Human managed to escape custody after being Hived. The man, apparently, ran straight for the hangar in-question and locked himself inside, just before a Newborn emerged from his chest. Mother was too preoccupied with coordinating other Hive-Mates and keeping everything in order to do anything about it, and eventually, the Newborn grew and couldn't escape the place, so it, apparently, `fell asleep`, and should still be waiting in there".
Samantha was actually getting a bit skeptical of the story, now. For some reason, the detached "professionalism" with which he recounted the tale — "how do you know about any this?" — seemed suspicious to her. He decided to quell her concerns before they could cultivate into anything oppositional.
"When I first encountered the hangar and asked why it hadn't been explored yet, Mother gave me the whole story. Which... now that I think about it, she could have lied about. She told me not to bother, since no living creatures could be detected inside. So, I didn't", he finished. Anteros added, "if I made any effort to try and enter the hangar, it would come across as suspicious to the rest of the Hive. Plus... I wasn't convinced that anything in there was worth the effort of searching for".
Samantha nodded to herself as she listened, expression turning blank. "Alright", she said, shrugging, "I guess we try that, then". If the story was true, then whoever the man was that died in there obviously had some reason to run to that specific hangar bay.
Anteros chuffed, nodding, and stood to all-fours, turning about on the spot and beginning to walk, throwing out a quick, "follow me" to his charge. As he began on the path down the hallway, he sensed the Human behind him jump to her feet. Followed by said Human suddenly experiencing a pang of vertigo, having to stop and rub her temples for a few moments. He stopped walking and awaited his friend, as she began to trundle forward with heavy steps— still shaking her head and blinking, frowning.
She asked, bluntly, "what the Hell was... that whole... thing, back in... back... back there— the... earlier?", clearly irritated and confused. She'd correctly deduced that the immense pain from earlier had something to do with him. He began to walk, then trot as she caught up to him, following behind and on the Scout's left. His tail, naturally held parallel to the floor, kept bumping against her thigh with each pace— not that either of them made any note of it.
Anteros... didn't know how to begin explaining that. He wasn't even entirely certain, himself. He'd largely avoided trying to expound upon telepathy— mostly because there was no accurate way to truly iterate it in Human terms. Not in English, at least. So... he didn't know how to explain whatever the Hell that whole mess was. He could guess. Perhaps offer an analogy to her, but he imagined that that would bring up more questions, rather than quell her concerns. So, he deigned to keep things simple, with her.
"Well... I don't really know what that was. And... in all honesty, it was probably my own fault, so... sorry", he confessed, sheepishly. "But, I do know why it happened", he added. She asked what it was, relatively care-free about the ordeal. Anteros delivered the answer with a grim, but otherwise unapologetic tone, "the Queen is dead".
Samantha's pace slowed momentarily as she balked, her gaze locked onto the back of Anteros's head. "Huh?", she blurted, a bit dumbly.
Anteros responded, ignoring the question, temporarily, "there's the apples and meds". He'd just caught "sight" of the two objects down the hall. Samantha noted the items, both leaning against the left wall. Their conversation paused in slightly awkward silence as Samantha waited for them to pass the bag and case, picking them up in either hand. Once she'd grabbed the objects, she prompted, again, "the Queen is dead?", blatantly curious.
Anteros pointedly swayed his head to the left as they walked, as though to look back at the Human. "She died seven minutes ago, yes". His tone was purely factual, without even a hint of remorse or sadness. The Ancestral, on the other hand had broken its relative silence with a subtle fit of anxiety and fear. It didn't like the idea of there not being a Queen... despite the fact that Anteros was a fugitive. It filled him with a sense of insecurity— of being exposed.
As Zazin-Vor'mekta trudged his way across the Infinite Roof, toward the awaiting shuttle set to pick him up, the skulls of the three Royal Guards in an acid-resistant, metallic net that he dragged across the ground... he felt... cold.
Decades ago, he would been brimming with pride and joy after a hunt like this— thinking of skinning and cleaning the bones and of where he'd hang them up on the walls of his Trophy Room. But right now... no such excitement came to him. A sickening, sinking ache twisted his guts, and already, he could feel an all-too-familiar frustration creep into his mind. A kind of dread reserved for things that illicit more sorrow than fear emerged in him, and as he handed off his netted skulls to a nearby Young Blood as he climbed the ramp of the shuttle... Zazin-Vor'mekta sighed as he resigned himself to yet another stretch of tedium...
Xenomorphs are driven to do the things they do by two things. Impulse and Motivation. Impulse is made up of the adrenaline that gets released in response to instinctual threats, along with the emotional reaction of rage and fight/flight responses. Motivation comes in a form familiar to Humans...
Whenever you do something healthy or generally "good", such as eat, sleep, or copulate, your brain releases dopamine as a "reward". Xenomorphs experience much the same whenever they perform behaviors that benefit the Hive. Capturing Hosts, going on patrols, doing the Queen's will, etc. Whether you believe they naturally evolved on some random planet or think they were bio-genetically engineered into being by the Space Jockeys, I don't think that this can truly be disputed.
In order for a Xenomorph to serve the Hive, properly, each individual must have a certain amount of Impulse and Motivation. Too little Motivation, and the Xeno will be reduced to an aimless berserker, with no other purpose than to mindlessly kill anything and everything different to it, and would likely end up deserting the Hive to go off on a wandering, killing-spree. Too little Impulse, and the Xenomorph will likely end up learning of higher things (philosophy, questions of introspection, and independence), which isn't necessarily bad for the individual, but bad for the Hive, and/or will probably become too ambitious for their own good.
The Xenomorph genome is hard-wired to maintain a balance in Impulse and Motivation.
However, as with many cases, sometimes, mutations happen. Every Xenomorph, in my view, is no smarter than any other Xenomorph. Every Xeno is possessed of an eidetic recall, fast learning capability, and (at their absolute highest potential) sapience. As well as a wide range of emotions. It is simply that, depending on the Caste, each Xenomorph has varying degrees of Impulse and Motivation to temper and/or direct these attributes in certain directions, for the good of the Hive. With some Xenos, however, mutations get in the way.
Anteros has too little of either, and, combined with his immense Empathic capacity, forged his own path and became (at least, in spirit) a bit Human. Gangshi was "normal" in all aspects. Lich has an unusual, but not-yet detrimental, lack of Impulse, yet plenty of Motivation— somewhat similar to the Queen. Xenomorphs like Grid (Aliens vs. Predator [2004]) and Six (Aliens vs. Predator [2010]) have lowered Impulse but high Motivation, leading to their intelligence being unhindered by any knee-jerk fits of rage, and allowing them to exercise more of their mental capacity, though not to the same degree as Lich.
