Found this on a disk the other day, decided to post it.

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Rated PG-13 for *gasp* violence. You probably knew that already, huh. Feedback is appreciated!

The queen was dead.

The xenomorph howled with rage and thrashed its tail violently against the corridor's metal bulkhead. It could still smell the fire, still feel the searing flame and hear its queen's dying shriek. It had not been there at the end, but it knew how it had happened. It howled again, in grief this time as well as fury, and slashed wickedly at the air.

The prey had done it. It was soft slow meat but it was cunning, and it carried bright fire. Not bright enough. The xenomorph was cunning too, and quick, and its flesh was not soft. It would rend and tear until spilt blood had been repaid in kind.

It growled softly and loped purposefully towards the docking bay. It moved with a predatory grace around collapsed bulkheads and sparking power conduits. The prey would be easy to find.

The xenomorph paused to sniff curiously at a corpse slumped against a bulkhead. It had been a human male, but now its ribcage was split, a ragged red hole where its chest should be. There had been young here. Perhaps it had survived, and they could hunt the meat together.

A noise further down the corridor made it stiffen. Voices. The xenomorph bared its teeth in a snarl, and thick saliva spilled from its jaws. It shot silently down the passageway towards the noise.

It slowed as the corridor forked, and veered left in pursuit of the voices. Power to this part of the ship had been severed and the corridor lights were dead. The prey was even more defenseless in the dark. The xenomorph did not need light. It hunted by other, better senses and did not need vulnerable eyes to mar the impenetrability of its armored exoskeleton.

The meat was very close. The xenomorph could smell it, and it could hear it. The prey was being careless. It moved quickly and noisily down the passageway, talking loudly. It thought all the xenomorphs were dead.

One more twist of the corridor, and the xenomorph could sense its quarry in infrared. The heat cast off by the humans made them glow like suns in the cool corridor. There were three. The nearest one cradled the fire spitter.

Murderer.

The xenomorph launched itself down the passage, bearing the prey to the ground before he could use the flamethrower. He fired wildly into the air as he was knocked backwards, screaming in panic. The xenomorph tried to puncture his skull with its inner mouth, but missed as the human flailed wildly. His companions yelled and began peppering the area with deafening automatic fire as a flashlight beam played crazily over the scene.

The xenomorph shrieked in outrage as a bullet smashed through its rigid carapace. Acidic blood dribbled from the wound and began eating through the deck plating. The xenomorph slashed viciously at the man below it until it could no longer hear a heartbeat, and the thrashing limbs fell still. The man's companions, who had been backing slowly towards an intersection under a covering rain of bullets, turned and fled into the darkness.

The xenomorph hissed menacingly at their retreating backs, but did not follow. The decks below were filled with water, and those above were burning. The prey was trapped.

Alarms sounded, and a serene computerized voice warned of imminent hull breach. The words were nothing but an aggravating noise to the xenomorph, but it understood the implications. Corrosive blood still seeped from its bullet wound. The air was thick with smoke and acrid with the smell of seared metal. It could hear the groaning of the overstressed bulkheads. Very soon now, the walls would break and it would be swept into the empty cold dark outside. It would die there.

Coiling its muscles, it sprinted through the smoke-filled corridor with a chilling cry.

The prey would die first.