King of the Hive
While not quite a true xenomorph, FA: bloodgod245 has something that comes pretty darn close. Meet 747...or better yet, don't.
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King of the Hive For Bloodgod245 By Draconicon
747 didn't remember his name, but he remembered guns. The sound of them, in particular, the click as they loaded, the rattle they made as they were carried around, the tiniest tink-tink of the bullets touching each other in their casings.
Yes, he remembered them, and he knew that they would hurt if he was in the open when their carriers arrived. So he wouldn't be in the open.
The modified xenomorph sliced a finger across his palm, opening his hand for the acid to come. It spilled over a grate in the wall, and he removed it when it had broken down enough. The vents in the old facility were small, but they were still big enough for him if he was quick enough. He pulled himself inside and slithered away, his tail pushing him along when his arms and legs were pushed too tightly together.
It didn't take long for voices to reach him. Human? He wasn't sure, but could be. Then again, the people who would send soldiers here would be able to send anything, from humans to gen-troops. Whatever they were, he settled down to listen.
"This is a suicide mission. We should be bombing this place from orbit."
"Shut up. This thing's survived that before, and our employers want us to be damn sure it's dead. Now spread out. I want motion trackers all over this place."
Motion trackers. 747 remembered that as well. Infrared wouldn't find him, but that most definitely would...
He waited, though. For now, better to get information.
More voices, all of them clipped, military. Not real military, though. Mercenaries. He knew the tone. Quick, no wasted words. They were professional. They were probably strong, too, from what he heard. Enough guns, enough bullets to put a hole in his hide as well as any others out there.
But more...
He heard a different tone in some of the voices. No less professional. No less strong. But much less masculine. Females.
He could use some females.
747 smiled to himself in the vents, and slowly started slithering on. He had a lot of planning to do, and not a lot of time in which to do it. But he would take the females, and make sure that the men didn't have any chance to report him back to their superiors. They might be prepared for something like him, but nothing could prepare anyone for just what he'd become.
#
Captain Parker walked down the flickering hallway, setting down lamps every twenty feet on opposite sides of the walls. Each one pointed a bit forward in the direction he was going, giving him a clear line of sight and keeping anything from hiding in the shadows.
When he ran into a cluster of boxes and debris, he didn't bother trying to climb it. Instead, he unhooked a grenade from his belt and threw it over the other side, and took cover. The grenade went off in due time, and the shrapnel went over his head, and back down the hallway.
He only knew he'd made a classic mistake when a drop of acid burned his ear before darkness descended on him.
Lieutenant Carpenter had three motion sensors set up around him, and one pointed above him. At his back, he had two motion-detecting turrets, and he had his flamethrower ready ahead of him, pointing down the same hallway that Captain Parker had gone down. The explosion wasn't unusual; the captain liked explosives.
A lack of report, however...
There was no way for anything to sneak up on him from in front or behind, or from above. He'd covered every possible ambush point...except for below.
His scream from a burnt ass went quiet too quickly for anyone to follow.
One by one, 747 tracked down the soldiers, each time coming up with a different way of dispatching them. It was never out of necessity; every soldier left themselves open in several different ways. Instead, it was more like a sport. Could he eliminate every male that he encountered in a different way? Could he make sure that no soldier died in the same way that someone else had?
He believed he could.
In the past, he believed he would have used one of their weapons against them, but there was no point in trying that. He was too big for anything but the biggest weapons, now, and even they were like toys in his hands.
Being blind was also a problem, for that matter. One of the few changes since the experient that he had not enjoyed.
Nevertheless, he could hear their panic as their numbers dropped, the frantic beep, beep, beep of their motion trackers getting louder and louder as they swept them around, picking up every bit of movement in the area rather than just him. They were getting careless, no longer checking corners, no longer following through with their training.
They were only making it easier.
747 felt like he was being let loose to play. He dripped acid onto bullet stores. He dropped an active flamethrower on a pile of grenades. He even managed to use a corpse as a puppet, his bladed tail drawing several soldiers down the hall until they were in reach. It was simply too easy.
And with every death, he disappeared, flicking away blood and acid to hide his tracks as he slipped into the vents, or through the ceiling, or through the floor into yet another little hiding place.
Four hours later...
They were trapped. All the males were dead, piled in a bloody mound in the center of the facility for food, while the females were desperately trying to escape.
They wouldn't. 747 had already melted down the locks on the airlocks; any attempt to leave would suck all the air out of the station with it. The females were stuck here with him, even if they didn't know it yet.
As he pushed himself through the vents, he followed their sounds, their panicked whispers, and found himself moving even faster.
"...get out of here!"
"I don't see anything on the motion trackers."
"Neither did anyone else, but they're dead!"
"The airlocks are busted!"
"Then there's gotta be a suit, somewhere. Not like everyone here could stay inside all the time."
Three or four different voices. It was hard to tell at this distance. It didn't matter; as long as he didn't push them to fight him in the open with their guns, he could take them down. Four was hardly an exertion, if they were unarmed.
He kept pushing forward for another minute before -
Rattattattattat!
A hail of expanding bullets blew a hole through the vent ahead of him, and very nearly cut through one of his fingers. 747 pulled back quickly, but quietly, shoving himself along rather than squirming. He heard rapid footsteps, and knew that one of the females must have heard him moving along.
Careless. Very careless of him.
He waited in the darkness, heard the sound of metal scraping against something smoother. Her shoving the gun into the vent? Possible.
She didn't fire, though. Possibly she didn't want to waste ammo. She should have; she could have killed him then.
"Looks like nothing..."
"Stop wasting your ammo!"
"And if I'd been right? I could have killed that thing!"
"Both of you shut up, and let's keep looking for a suit."
Hmmm. Another thought occurred to the xenomorph, and he changed direction. He wouldn't be long at this. He never was.
Gizelle grunted as she stepped back from the storage room door. It still showed no signs of coming open, and she doubted that she could blow it open. Expanding rounds did a lot, but they didn't do that much.
The other two weren't much better off. Sandra was busy trying to work out if anything they had could fix the hole in the airlock, while Tanya...
"Will you stop waving that thing around and help me here?"
"That thing could come down the hallway any minute!"
"Well, we could be out of here if we could just get this door open. So get over here!"
"...Fine, but I'm keeping a hold of this."
"Fine, just help me."
The two mercenaries settled up side by side at the door. It wasn't hydraulic, so it was possible to open. But it did take both of them, with her pulling at it as hard as she possibly could. Tanya kept her gun up, and as soon as the door opened, they both saw something dart by.
The explosive sound of gunfire damn near deafened her, and only the fact that Tanya's weapon was jammed in the gap kept it open.
"What the fuck?!"
"I saw something! You did too!"
"Yeah, something. Not...Just get the door open."
They wiggled it open, and saw what neither of them wanted to see. The spacesuits that they needed were there, alright, but torn to shreds by Tanya's barrage. Worse, somehow, they were hanging from strings...strings that ran into a vent...
How...that's impossible. The creature can't be that -
A sudden shove from below her waist sent her flying, and Tanya followed. As they landed, Gizelle turned, but her bullets only caught one of the rifles flying through the air, setting off a small explosion. When the dust cleared...
Gizelle was out of ammo, and the creature stood in the middle of the room, holding a cut hand over the last rifle, and bleeding acid on it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck....
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
747 had many plans for these females. With his modifications, he could start a hive, and they had no way of escape. He could use them...break them...and make them his. No weapons, no escape.
The thought alone started a growth between his legs, a growth that had the females gasping as he advanced on the one that had shot at him. She would be the first...but not the last.
The End