Disclaimer: This is an Alien vs Predator/Stargate fanfiction, written for fun. The 'Predators' in this AU story are based off the Stargate universe and are not called 'Predators'. I do NOT own AvP OR Stargate: SG-1, nor do I get money for my writing. This was started because I felt like starting it, if you don't like it, don't read it.

In the beginning...

They were unsure exactly of how They were born. One moment, everything was hot, so incredibly hot. It was unimaginably tight and black, compressing in crushing strength around Them. Then in one moment…


Light exploded into blindingly bright existence. It was still unbelievably hot as the few of Them were thrust away from the single point, speeding away into the expanding darkness.


Dark space awaited Them and the light, stretching forever in front of Them, Theirs for the taking. As they traveled, they learned, retaining the Knowledge for eternity, the Knowledge of One free for the Others.

They slowly began to spread out, still expanding with the light, swirling around with the pursuing gases, soaking up everything around Them, exploring Their new surroundings as They rushed away from Their Point of Origin.

No, They were still unsure of how exactly They came into existence. They just Knew They would enjoy it.


~*~*~*~*~*~Bouvetoya Whaling Station, Antarctica, 1900~*~*~*~*~*~

A half frozen whaler by the name of Karl stumbled down the narrow street of the whaling town, trying to escape, sensing they were watching. He was dressed only in a t-shirt and jeans; his frozen clothing, half frozen beard, and his bluing skin was doing anything to protect him from the biting Antarctic air, but Karl was not feeling the cold.

Skin turning a dangerous blue, he limped on to the main road, eyes flicking around wildly as he inched his way past tools, cups, and other supplies, abandoned and quickly freezing over from the cold. Karl stopped short, just before the greenhouse building. He took in the frozen, bloody smears on the front of the building, shaking in terror. Or was it from the cold?

He glanced around once more, sensing eyes on him. Karl darted across the road and down the narrow alley that had been directly across from him, running for the mess hall.

As soon as he reached the building, he slammed the door shut, breathing heavily. Exhausted and freezing, Karl took in his surroundings as he slowly moved through the tables. Above him, harpoons, lances, and louchets hung from the ceiling, swaying gently. He could hear the pots in the kitchen boiling over, forty places set at the tables for a crew of men nowhere to be seen.

From the rafters above him, a long, slender black pointed tail stretched down behind him, out of his sight.

Karl made his way deeper into the mess hall, making his way toward the kitchen. He rounded the corner just to stop dead in his tracks.

An armored, humanoid creature, like the ones that had gone after the others, stood before him. It loomed above him, nearly a foot and a half taller than himself. It stared down at him, mask covering its face.

It raised its weapon as Karl turned around in fright, meaning to run back the way he came, just to find himself staring into the double mouth of a pitch black creature.

The whaler's short screams were drowned out by a roar, and the screeching of an alien creature. Loud crashes and the sounds of energy blasts filled the air for a moment before dying out. Silence fell over the whaling station.

~*~*~*~*~*~New Mexico High Desert: Weyland Industries-

T.D.R.S. Receiving Station, 2000 (present day)~*~*~*~*~*~

The air conditioning inside the Weyland Industries facility gave the handful of technicians inside a reprieve from the desert heat. All of them were monitoring the satellites that Weyland Industries had orbiting Earth, not that anything interesting had ever happened. The many screens that filled the room were filled with a whole lot of nothing.


The blond male technician, Keith, looked up from his movie as a beeping noise came from the console beside him. "Hey Laurie?" He called his supervisor as he began to zoom in on the image. "You should take a look at this."

Laurie made her way over to him, not expecting much. "What is it?"

"The data stream from PS-12." Keith began printing several copies of the image.

"Big Bird," Laurie murmured. "Where is she?"

"Right over Sector 14."

Laurie stared at the technician blankly for a second, "There isn't anything in Sector 14."

"There is now," Keith said as the photos competed their printing.

The supervisor picked up a hard copy of the photo, staring at the pattern of interlocking square shapes. "Wake them up."

"Who?" Keith asked.


~*~*~*~*~*~Veritas, Colorado~*~*~*~*~*~

Aaron's cell phone rang as he was finishing up getting ready to leave. He was dressed semi-professionally, preparing to head out to Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station. He paused in his routine, not recognizing the number and definitely not expecting a phone call. Curious, he answered as he finished gathering his needed items: "Who is this?"

The voice on the other end was smooth and rich, with a clear cut English accent. "Doctor Miller...a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Maxwell Stafford. I represent Mister Weyland of Weyland Industries."

"Oh?" Aaron snapped his briefcase closed. "What could he possibly want from me?"

"A little of your time," came the smooth response. "He would like to speak with you personally-he has an offer to make you."

"Is that so?" Aaron pulled on his jacket, locating his wallet and keys. "When?"


He scoffed quietly. "I kind of have other things I need to do today, other commitments. I can't just drop everything on such short notice for a meeting."

"Yes, he understands you're a busy man," was the answer as Aaron opened his front door, stepping outside and locking up. "That's why he came to you."

The Ancient Studies and Linguistics expert stopped short when he saw his driveway and his car blocked off by a sleek white limo. A smartly dressed man of Afro-Caribbean descent stood just outside the rear door, lowering a cellphone from his ear.

Aaron hung up the phone as he made his way down the driveway, toward the limo, his curiosity growing with every step. "He's in there now?" He asked Maxwell Stafford.

"He is. We can drop you anywhere you wish, in return for you hearing what Mister Weyland has to offer." Maxwell opened the backdoor, inviting Aaron in. "I think you'll be very interested in what he has to say."

Aaron eyed him for a moment before making his way to the limo. "Very well, then. You have my attention."