Confronting the Beast

The tunnel air was thick with damp and decay, every breath scraping Ripley’s throat raw. The dim amber lights along the ceiling flickered, casting long shadows across the rusted pipes and cracked floor beneath her boots.

She had followed the sound—slow, deliberate movement—down into the guts of Fiorina 161. Now, standing alone in the narrow passage, she faced it: the Dragon.

The Xenomorph emerged without sound from the darkness, its black carapace slick under the sickly, broken light. The creature paused, towering and still, the ridged dome of its head dipping slightly as it inhaled the stale air between them.

Ripley narrowed her eyes. She had seen the thing kill with savage efficiency. It should have torn her apart by now.

Instead, it inched closer, breathing her in, sensing something buried deep inside her.

The Queen.

It knew.

The Dragon’s glistening jaw opened slowly, inner fangs clicking forward—but it didn’t strike. It then lowered its head slightly, a grotesque bow, before it slipped away into the deeper darkness of the tunnels, leaving her standing alone...

Happy Alien Day!

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