The hiss of the shuttle's hydraulics was the only sound that greeted Travis Gordon as he stepped onto the landing pad. The atmosphere here on PX-961 was thick and oppressive, not just from the swirling toxic clouds beyond the station's dome, but from the palpable tension that seemed to cling to the air. The Epsilon Research Station loomed ahead, all sharp lines and cold steel, its architecture more about function than form, an isolated outpost, devoid of life save for the scientists, soldiers, and secrets within.
His eyes quickly fell to the center of the platform, where a group of workers were unloading a large, sleek black container from a cargo transport. The words "Extreme Biohazard. Handle with caution" were emblazoned in stark red letters across its surface. Armed guards flanked it, fingers resting just a little too lightly on their triggers.
Gordon felt a knot tighten in his stomach. This wasn't just another classified project, not some specimen to be studied with a safe degree of separation. This was it.
"That thing... it could wipe out an entire colony if it ever got out," he thought, scanning the faces of the security detail, their expressions betraying a deeper understanding of the threat than the executives who greeted him with forced smiles.
He swallowed the unease building in his chest as he approached. Gordon's steps slowed as he neared the container. His mind churned with the ethical turmoil that had followed him ever since he accepted this position. There was no denying it: he had been hired to weaponize whatever they found inside that box. It gnawed at him, the weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders like the heavy clouds outside the dome.
"But if I hadn't taken this job... who would have?" The answer came quickly: Dr. Julian Mercer. A name that sent a chill through him. Mercer was brilliant, yes, but utterly ruthless, someone who would sell his own mother if it meant advancing his career. Gordon had seen the consequences of Mercer's careless ambition firsthand in their shared years at Weyland-Yutani.
"If Mercer had been standing here instead of me... no, it would have been disastrous. He would have turned this into a nightmare. At least I can keep things from spiraling out of control."
The thought gave him a brief sense of purpose, enough to steady his nerves. He had to believe he was the lesser of two evils in this situation.
Gordon's hand, almost unconsciously, reached out and rested on the smooth, cold surface of the container. The thick, reinforced metal hummed faintly with the life support systems maintaining the creature within. For a moment, the noise of the facility seemed to fade into the background. His fingers traced the warning label, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere.
"What a marvel you are... a perfect organism," he mused silently, his earlier fear briefly overtaken by awe. "So much potential for devastation... but maybe... just maybe, there's something more to you. Or maybe you were meant to cleanse the universe of the worst we've become. Humanity's arrogance, its greed... maybe you'll be the one to right those wrongs, if nothing else."
The thought was both humbling and terrifying. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but deep down, he wasn't entirely sure. There was a twisted part of him that wondered if the creature, in its raw and unrestrained form, might be the justice the universe was owed.
A voice cut through the quiet hum of the landing pad, jolting Gordon from his thoughts. "Dr. Gordon! Welcome to Epsilon," the voice called, too loud and too eager. Gordon turned to see a group of executives standing a safe distance from the container, clearly unwilling to come any closer.
The one who had spoken, a man in a sharply pressed suit, raised a hand in greeting. His posture screamed forced confidence, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the container. "I'm Thomas Pierce, head of site operations. It's an honor to finally meet you."
Beside him, a woman with equally crisp attire, likely the corporate liaison, offered a stiff smile. "I'm Cynthia Hale, overseeing project compliance," she added, though her body language suggested she had little interest in what the container held.
Gordon glanced between them, his usual calm professionalism slipping back into place. They knew who he was, his reputation clearly preceded him, but he had never met them before today. Still, their nervous energy was palpable. Pierce extended a hand, and Gordon took it, feeling the clammy grip of a man who was likely more comfortable in boardrooms than near biological threats.
Pierce's handshake lingered a moment too long, but Gordon quickly withdrew his hand, offering a curt nod. "Appreciate the welcome. I assume you've got everything ready?" His voice was calm, but he could feel the tension creeping into his own muscles. The quicker they got this over with, the better.
Pierce gave a stiff nod. "Of course, Dr. Gordon. Everything's been prepared according to your specifications. We're ready for you to take charge."
Hale added, "If there's anything you need, feel free to contact me directly." Her tone was polished but distant, as if already trying to shift responsibility for whatever came next.
Gordon didn't bother with pleasantries. "Let's get this thing inside," he said, gesturing to the container. He moved swiftly toward the facility, signaling for the security team to follow.
The sterile, white lights of the lab illuminated the restrained specimen, its elongated, biomechanical form grotesque even in its paralyzed state. Hours had passed since Gordon's arrival, and now, the creature was locked into a complex metal contraption designed for dissection and study. The Xenomorph, a perfect organism, lay still, though its sheer presence filled the room with a quiet, suffocating dread.
Despite its medical paralysis, extra measures had been taken to ensure it couldn't become a threat. An implanted disk, crafted from an experimental alloy impervious to its acid blood, was lodged at the base of its neck, severing the connection between its spinal column and brain. It prevented the regenerative abilities of the organism from restoring the damaged nerves, an astonishing feat, but one that came at a heavy price. The materials used were worth a small fortune, far exceeding the budget of most projects.
Gordon moved closer, inspecting the disk as it held the creature helpless. "Even paralyzed, it could heal itself if given half the chance," he thought. "Incredible... but what else could be hiding in that twisted biology?"
Gordon stepped back from the restrained creature, his eyes lingering on the unnatural stillness of the Xenomorph. With a breath, he called out, "Dr. Torres, let's move forward with the neurological interface scan."
Dr. Elena Torres, a sharp-eyed woman in her mid-thirties with an air of cold efficiency, stepped forward from her station. "Understood, Dr. Gordon." Her fingers danced over the control panel, and the lab began to hum with the low thrum of the machines coming to life.
From the other side of the room, Dr. Marcus Feldman, a younger researcher who had clearly earned his place through tenacity rather than experience, positioned himself beside the containment device. "We've isolated the regions you requested, sir," Feldman said, his voice just a touch too eager. His eyes darted nervously toward the creature's skull as mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, holding a cluster of neural probes.
Gordon took another step back, allowing his team to carry out their assignments. The whirring of servos filled the room as the mechanical arms began to delicately position the probes along the Xenomorph's cranial ridges. "Be careful," Gordon muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular. The machine worked precisely, extracting data that would have been impossible just hours earlier.
He folded his arms and watched as Torres and Feldman carried out the tasks he'd laid out, a silent observer. This was what he'd wanted, science pushing the boundaries of the known universe, but still, that familiar knot of unease sat in his gut. This was only the beginning.
As the neural probes settled into place, Gordon couldn't help but recall the disastrous incident on T-797. A similar research team, under different leadership, had tried to run the same neurological interface experiment. Poor management and lax safety protocols had led to catastrophic results. The creature had regenerated faster than expected, breaking free of its restraints. Dozens had been killed in the chaos that followed, and the project was abandoned, buried deep in Weyland-Yutani's archives.
He watched as Torres and Feldman worked, precision guiding every move. At least here, things were different. "They learned from that mistake," Gordon thought, a grim satisfaction settling over him. "No cost is too high to ensure safety." He had insisted on it when he took the position, and for once, the executives had capitulated. The reinforced containment, the implanted disk, the expensive materials, they'd balked at first, but he hadn't given them a choice.
"At least they had the sense to listen," he mused silently. "This thing gets loose, and there won't be anyone left to point fingers."
The machine buzzed quietly as the first data streams began to flow onto the monitors, and Gordon allowed himself to exhale. For now, everything was going according to plan.
Gordon watched the monitors for a moment longer before stepping back. "I'll leave the rest of this phase in your hands, Dr. Torres," he said, his tone calm but purposeful. "I'm heading to my office to start analyzing the genetic samples."
Torres nodded, her focus remaining on the task at hand. "Understood, Dr. Gordon."
As Gordon made his way through the cold, sterile corridors of the facility, his thoughts fixated on the initial genetic readouts. The complexity of the Xenomorph's DNA was staggering, even for someone of his expertise. Entire sections of its genome seemed designed to mutate and adapt, making the organism nearly impervious to environmental threats and most conventional forms of containment.
He was particularly interested in the regenerative sequences, how the creature could heal itself at such an accelerated rate. That would be his starting point. Understanding the mechanism behind that ability might unlock new possibilities, both for controlling the organism and potentially for broader applications beyond weapons development.
By the time he reached his office, Gordon's unease had dulled, replaced by the familiar comfort of scientific curiosity. He knew exactly where to begin.
Weeks had passed, and Gordon had made astonishing progress, far more than anyone had anticipated. But with each discovery, his unease deepened. He couldn't trust Weyland-Yutani with what he'd learned. The potential for disaster was too great. They would weaponize it, twist it into something far worse than it already was.
His team worked diligently in the lab, oblivious to the magnitude of what he had truly uncovered. But Gordon had long since stopped sharing everything. Even now, as he oversaw their progress, a separate process was running on his terminal, copying his true findings to an external storage device.
In the distant, unused section of the facility that he'd stumbled upon during one of his long walks, his secret lab had already taken shape. It wasn't much, just old equipment discreetly taken from deep storage, but it was enough. Gordon didn't need the cutting-edge machines his team was using. He had something far more valuable: knowledge, and the freedom to work without oversight.
He wasn't planning to abandon the project. On the contrary, he intended to stay as long as he could get away with it. He would continue his research in secret, withholding the most critical information from the company. What he had learned would remain his own, for now. Let Weyland-Yutani think they were in control. They had no idea how much more there was to uncover.
As the data finished transferring, Gordon prepared to wipe his tracks from the system. His real work was only just beginning.
Gordon had been careful, methodical, even. His reports to the company were meticulously crafted, curated to give them just enough to keep the project moving forward, but never enough to act on independently. He provided them with promising but incomplete data, enticing them with small breakthroughs while keeping the more dangerous truths hidden. The Xenomorph genome was a trove of horrors, but he knew which parts to leave out, which discoveries to conveniently "overlook."
The executives were none the wiser. As long as he fed them progress, they stayed out of his way, confident that their investment would pay off in time. They didn't need to know his greatest discoveries: How the organism's regenerative abilities could be triggered and controlled, or how its aggressive tendencies could be redirected. Those were kept locked away in his private files.
He reviewed the latest batch of curated data in preparation to send it off. It was just enough to satisfy corporate, to make them think they were on the brink of something groundbreaking. But they weren't. Not yet. And they wouldn't be, not without him.
Gordon leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of his double life pressing down on him. He wasn't just leading a project; he was managing the flow of information, deciding what the company could see and what they never would. He clicked the "send" button, dispatching the report to Weyland-Yutani.
If he was right, and he believed he was, he was on the cusp of a discovery that could rival the elimination of tuberculosis in 2098. Something that could elevate humanity to the next phase of its evolution. The Xenomorph, for all its terror and lethality, held within it the potential for something far greater. He'd been correct in his early belief that something good could be extracted from the monster.
But the more he unraveled the genome, the more the sickening truth gnawed at him. Someone had created this organism with a singular, horrifying purpose: the destruction of humanity. The creature wasn't just a biological marvel, it was a weapon, meticulously engineered to wipe them out. That realization weighed heavily on him, more so than he could have ever anticipated.
Still, Gordon's determination only grew stronger. Somewhere beneath the malevolence and the aggression of the Xenomorph lay its true purpose. The creature had been corrupted, its natural potential twisted into something monstrous. Signs of the tampering were everywhere He was convinced that if he could strip away the layers of manipulation, he would find the original organism, the one it was meant to be before someone had meddled with it. And he believed he had the answer. Deep in the genetic code, hidden beneath the horror, was the key. He could feel it. He was so close.
Gordon stood alone in the dim light of his secret lab, the hum of the outdated equipment a comforting white noise. He surveyed his work. Weeks of isolation, meticulous experimentation, and countless nights of sleepless obsession all leading to this moment. The storage devices held his data, but the real prize was before him.
He approached the containment chamber where the modified egg sat, its leathery folds barely pulsing with life. Inside, the creation he had spent weeks perfecting waited. He'd been right about some things, and wrong about others. But it didn't matter. He had what he'd set out for.
The Xenomorph, he had learned, had indeed been tampered with, its original design twisted in ways the original creators had never intended. But what he held now was something different. Something that might restore what had been lost, that might offer a future for humanity beyond the weapon it had become.
With a steady hand, he reached into the chamber, pulling the altered organism from the egg. It was grotesque, almost identical to its original form but without the legs, a helpless creature in his grasp. He marveled at it for a moment, a mixture of awe and trepidation filling his chest. Then, without hesitation, he placed it on his face.
My upload schedule is Sundays. Unless otherwise specified.
Credit for the Cover Art goes to my wonderful friend πΏπΎπππΎππ½.
Story content for the early chapters written with the assistance of Chat GPT. Later chapters use less and less generated content. This story started as a kind of experiment. The results were good at first, but they began to drop off as the machine began to deviate further and further from my vision for this story. I'm sharing this information freely. The most recent chapters contain no generated content. I'll add a message to the bottom of the chapter containing the last of the generated content.