Spartan One 023

The motion tracker repeatedly clicked as Orion led the survivors away from the corridor.

Red blips crowded its screen. Some moved in the vents above them. Others flowed along the parallel passageways, keeping pace with the squad. Behind them, Gorman’s voice had disappeared into the ducts. No one had heard him again.

“According to the map, the research center is dead ahead.” Hicks said, his eyes constantly roaming from the tracker to the vents. 

“The archive is inside the research center.” Bishop replied. “It contains the complete colony data set, including the specimens’ behavioral records and the station’s internal logs.”

“Understood.” Orion nodded, maintaining his position at point. 

Several Marines looked like they wanted to say something in retort, but Johnson stomped on the crisped remains of a facehugger, and laughed. 

“See? They do die. I don't know about you all, but after this, I'll be enjoying my paid week off. Margaritas on the beaches of Reach. Sounds like a good time to me.”

“From the look of things, the LT is going to win again.” The Sergeant couldn't help but speak up, sending a small burst of flame at a facehugger that was dangling from a pipe. “Then again, if these small hand guys count as kills…then I'll be the one to enjoy those beaches.” 

Johnson grinded his teeth, and scoffed. “Nonsense! The big ones count as double, no, ten times what one of those face-humping bastards count as.” Johnson retorted. 

“Are you pandejos done? We've got bugs crawling around in all the vents looking at us like a chupacabra eying its prey.” Vasquez warned in a hushed whisper. 

“Heh. They're scared. Even aliens have a measure of self preservation, right?” Johnson chuckled, then pointed his chin at the man leading point. “If anything, we just need to guard his back, and make sure Sarge here doesn't eat it. They're smart hunters, right? Keeping these two alive means victory.” 

“So you did read the report. Color me surprised.” Sarge rolled his eyes, and replied sarcastically. “Good to know you see mine and the Lieutenant's value.” He then quickly switched to a smug tone. 

“Don’t let that flamer get to your head, sir. Between Vasquez and me, we've got twenty times your points.” Johnson quickly defended. 

“Ay, caramba, so this is what a tier 1 military unit looks like?” Vasquez muttered to herself. 

“Quiet, we're coming across a survivor.” Orion said from the front. 

At the same time, Orion couldn't help but sigh. What's with little girls being psychic? Scanning for life with his esp, it was especially easy to sense other psychics. The Xenomorph Queen was like a glowing light in the distance, whilst the only survivor of Hadley’s Hope was like a dull lightbulb. The girl must be subconsciously using her powers to hide her presence, because Orion couldn't sense her peculiarities until he was practically right on top of her. 

Passing by a panel marked HABITATION 12, they started to gather near a small grate no larger than a small dog. Prying the panel open, a small, dirty, malnourished girl of about 8 or 10 years old rolled out. 

A little girl was wedged behind it, filthy and shaking, one hand wrapped around a small utility knife. Her eyes darted past Ripley to the armed figures crowding the corridor. She clamped her mouth shut, and stared at them without a word. 

“It’s all right.” Ripley said, lowering her weapon and stepping forward. “My name is Ripley, what's yours?” 

The girl-Newt-stared for a moment longer, then ducked back inside. At that moment, a ceiling grille tore loose behind Ripley.

The Xenomorph dropped without a sound. Its claws struck the floor where Newt’s legs had been a heartbeat earlier. Ripley twisted, putting herself between the girl and the creature. Orion’s M6D magnum sat heavy in her hands, the pistol’s squared slide catching the emergency light. She fired twice. The first round punched into the alien’s shoulder. The second went through its open jaw and snapped its head back.

The creature hit the deck, tail lashing. Ripley dragged Newt out of the crawlspace and against her chest. She then rolled behind a nearby wall as the first beads of acid ate through the floor beside them.

“Clear!” Vasquez shouted.

One of the Spartans put a final round through the alien’s skull. Ripley stayed over Newt until the body stopped moving.

“So you're Newt.” Orion stated, stepping forward to examine the girl. 

The little blonde-upon seeing Orion-sensed some discomfort, and buried herself into Ripley’s embrace to hide. 

“There, there, the boogieman won't hurt you.” Ripley comforted, then shot Orion a look as if to say ‘go back to the front, you're scaring her.’ 

Orion, meanwhile, could only sigh. It looked like he had found a friend for Nova. 

He then looked down the corridor. The archive lay three levels below, and the tracker showed the swarm closing again. Gesturing to the squad, he once more took point. 

The research center’s outer doors were sealed behind thick isolation glass. Yellow warning strips marked each panel. Bishop accessed the manual override, but the system opened only the front entrance. Beyond it, another set of doors remained shut.

“The facility is divided into eight containment sectors.” Bishop explained. “The central archive sits at their intersection. Each section was sealed independently after the first contamination alert.”

“So the doors kept the specimens separated…will this affect the download speed?” Hicks asked. 

“Fortunately, all of the data should be accessible from the central terminal.” Bishop calmly replied. 

Orion led them through the inner door, confident that everything was clear. 

The archive chamber was an octagonal in shape. Eight quarantine doors ringed its walls, each leading to a separate laboratory wing. Behind the narrow windows, shapes shifted in the darkness. A row of specimen tanks stood shattered in one sector. Another room was streaked with black blood. The remaining doors stayed shut, their locking bolts driven deep into the frames.

The data core occupied a waist-high pedestal in the chamber’s center. Bishop opened the panel and connected his interface. Ripley took Newt behind a console bank, where the girl could see the entrance and the way out. The Marines formed a perimeter, and the Spartans watched the doors.

“How long until the data is secured, android?” Orion asked in a level tone, although some of his dislike for synths bled into his voice. 

“The archive is fragmented across four redundant drives. I can copy the records to a portable unit, but the full transfer will take several minutes.” Bishop stared into Orion’s mask, speaking with confidence. 

“Start it.” Orion said. 

As the console lit up, a percentage bar ever so slowly showed the download go from 1% to 5%. From the look of things, it reminded Orion of downloading Elden Ring to his potato PC back in the day. At the same time, he knew that this was the calm before the storm. Surrounded on all sides by eight closed doors. Yeah, he'd watched enough horror movies to know what was coming next. 

Orion placed himself between the archive and the northern door. The Marines covered the other seven. A Spartan crouched near each side passage, rifle braced against a shoulder. The team’s breathing rasped through their helmets as they too felt the tension. The tracker kept clicking, faster now, as the red blips gathered around the research center.

At thirty-two percent, something struck the door to Sector Three. The aliens repeatedly struck various mechanisms at altering points, as if they were searching for door panels, or some sort of latch. At fifty-eight, Bishop’s head tilted as he processed a status update. “The facility has registered an emergency control change.”

“What kind of change?” Ripley asked.

The wall console blinked from yellow to green a second later. 

EMERGENCY ISOLATION PROTOCOL LIFTED.

“That’s wrong…the contamination alert remains active.” Bishop stated with a frown. 

Damned synth! 

The locking bolts withdrew, and all eight doors began to rise.

Orion saw the first black head thrust beneath a shutter, and started blasting. “Contact, all sides!”

The room erupted into motion. 

The Marines opened fire. Vasquez’s Smartgun swept the eastern approach, stitching rounds through the first two Xenomorphs as they charged. Drake braced beside her, shouting over the weapon’s roar. Apone fired from the south door and barked orders for controlled bursts. The Spartans moved in pairs, eliminating foes one after another. 

And yet for all their firepower, the aliens kept coming.

One came low beneath the firing line. Orion thrust out a hand. A blue-white field snapped around it, flash-freezing its limbs and locking it in a crouch.

Another vaulted the central pedestal. Orion caught it with a psychic blast of [Warp]. The distortion folded inward, crushing the creature in a burst of force before it could reach Bishop.

“We have reached 70%.” Bishop calmly intoned as he recorded everything taking place as if he were a 3rd person viewer. 

An alien burst from the western lab and hit Drake full in the chest. Its claws punched through his armor and drove him backward. Vasquez spun, but Drake’s body blocked her line of fire. He managed one choked shout before the creature dragged him under the rising shutter. Vasquez fired through the narrow gap, but the Xenomorph vanished into the dark with Drake still in its grip.

“Drake!” She screamed.

“Hold the line!” Apone shouted. He stepped into the space Drake had left.

A second creature came through the south door. Apone put two rounds into its chest. It slammed into him anyway, tail spearing beneath his armor. Hicks fired until the alien’s skull ruptured, then caught Apone as he fell to the floor, blood pouring out of his chest like a sieve.

Hicks lowered him behind the central computers, and fumbled for some bandages. “Stay with me, Sarge.”

Apone’s eyes found his. His mouth moved, but no sound came. Then they went still.

The next wave forced the Marines back toward the archive. Hudson fired too fast, his rifle emptying in a stuttering burst. He fumbled for a magazine while a Xenomorph crawled over the ceiling above him.

“Hudson!” Hicks shouted.

The alien dropped down, and Hicks's rounds missed. A tail hooked Hudson around the waist and hauled him up. Hudson fired his sidearm into its body as it dragged him toward the open lab. Acid sprayed across the wall, and slid down Hudson’s face, melting into his skull with a sickening hiss.

Johnson stepped into the gap with a shotgun. He fired once at a Xenomorph charging Vasquez, blowing it off its feet. He racked the pump and fired again into the next one’s head at point-blank range. The blast knocked it back into the doorway.

“Move, Vasquez!” He yelled.

She shifted with him, Smartgun still firing, and the two of them held the south side long enough for Hicks to reload. A Spartan on the northeast flank was dragged through the Sector Five door. His armor scraped sparks from the frame as his squadmate grabbed for him. The alien’s tail punched through his chest plate, but the brave man wasn't dead just yet, and had time enough to unclip his grenade. The resulting explosion ended man & monster alike. 

“Eighty-six percent.” Bishop called out. 

The lab doors stood fully open now. Xenomorphs spilled into the octagon from all eight directions, climbing the walls and crossing above the lights. A facehugger shot from beneath a ruined table. Ripley fired the magnum, striking it mid-leap. 

Another Xenomorph skittered along the console bank toward Newt.

Ripley pivoted and fired. The first shot glanced by its skull. The creature snapped its inner jaws at her and kept coming. She stepped into its path, set her feet, and fired again. The HE round tore through its mouth, and exploded its brains. 

Johnson’s shotgun thundered again. Then it clicked empty. He tossed it aside and drew his sidearm. A Xenomorph lunged through the gunsmoke. Johnson fired into its body, but the impact only made it stumble during its advance. Its tail punched through his shoulder and pinned him against the wall. 

Hicks started blasting the Xenomorph, very carefully aiming so as not to hurt his comrade. 

“Do it!” Johnson gasped. Acid was already eating through his armor where the creature’s blood ran over him. He drew his knife, stabbing forward. “Kill it, no matter the cost! Get. Them. Out.”

The Xenomorph hissed, and moved to impale Johnson once more, but his knife work was brutal. Between his stabs, and Hicks's refusal to back down, the alien was brutally slain. 

Johnson slid down with his own blood coloring his armor. White hissing steam was rising where the metal was being eaten away. The Corporal hurriedly ran forward, and with the help of Ripley, tore the mangled ODST armor off of him before it could melt into his skin. 

The progress counter reached ninety-four percent.

By now, only Hicks & Vasquez were the only remaining Marines. Everyone else had gone down, or been dragged away, their fate unknown. 

“Ninety-eight.” Bishop said.

Then the second Spartan fell at the north door. It had been a hard, ugly fight, all elbows and muzzle flashes in the cramped chamber. She drove her rifle into a Xenomorph’s open mouth and fired. Another hooked her leg and dragged her into the doorway. A third struck her helmet from behind. She was silent the whole time, unloading her gun until it clicked empty. Six Xenomorphs paid the price until she was eventually swarmed, and torn apart. 

“Data transfer complete.” Bishop announced. “All records verified.”

“We’re leaving through the service hatch. Everyone behind me.” Orion sternly ordered, glancing one more time at the spot where he had lost two of his Spartans. 

Once everyone had scrambled to move behind him-with Hicks & Ripley helping carry Johnson-he threw out both hands. A shockwave of the improved AOE [Warp] burst across the chamber, crushing the entire room, and everything inside like a boot upon a soda can. 

“Someone patch Johnson up. The reactor is only 3 clicks away. Everyone take five, then we move out.”