Holy crap, guys. What you’re about to read is the
penultimate entry in the now over yearlong critique of my preteen Aliens versus Predator 2 fanfic. I have
actually devoted over twelve months of my life to compiling this, which is
possibly longer than I spent writing the damn thing back in grade school.
With the morally appalling Predator Swift-Death
having accomplished what he set out to do, much to the chagrin of General Rykov
and pretty much anyone forced to read this, we track jackass Marine Andrew “Frosty”
Harrison and talkative Alien Jimrakh as they attempt to rescue the Empress.
Right
about the time when the rest of the Marines entered the POC, Harrison, Jimrakh
and the accompanying were making their way down the dark, cavernous tunnels.
For the past hour, Harrison’s motion tracker had remained silent. Still,
Jimrakh was at his ready.
Not at the same time, mind you. Just right about.
Little me seemingly could only give enough of a damn at this point to ballpark
it.
“How
can you be sure that the Complex is this way?” Harrison asked.
“One
of my brethren, who has been fully-grown longer than I, viewed the buildings
from afar. He was pretty sure that this tunnel will lead to it,” Jimrakh
answered. “If our guesses are correct, the scientist should be bringing the
Empress to there.”
“What
if you’re wrong?”
“I’m
what you call an Alien. My species and I are never wrong.”
“Sure,
and you don’t believe that capturing and killing hundreds of lives is wrong?”
“There’s
a difference between wrong and instinct. I’m afraid your species has a lot to
learn.”
Something tells me Jimrakh is one of those
evolutionary psychology-touting pick up artist assholes. Also Jesus dude what
the fuck.
“Never
mind that. Eisenberg’s going to be at the Landing Complex soon,” Harrison said.
“I’m sure you don’t want to lose your ruler.”
“Right,
right,” Jimrakh growled. The human was getting tedious, but anyone would be in
his position. Jimrakh decided to ignore it.
Does Jimrakh even really need Harrison at this
point? After all, Jimrakh has all but flat-out stated he would have no qualms
about killing him, anyway. It’s like I was so desperate to maintain this team
up that I became ignorant of both plot and basic morality. Thank God rarely
anyone wields power at the age of 13 these days, else we would have a Hell of a
lot more despots.
Meanwhile,
at the entrance to the Auxiliary Landing Complex, Eisenberg and his truck,
containing the Empress, drove up to the gates.
It was an El Camino.
“Dr.
Eisenberg,” the gatekeeper started. “Thank goodness you’re alive. We thought
you. . . ”
“Reports
of my impregnation were greatly exaggerated…”
Oh ew.
“…Open
the gate, we’ve got company,” Eisenberg finished. The guard stared wide-eyed at
the Empress.
“Sir,
I’m afraid you aren’t cleared for a specimen like that to be transported
through this complex - “ the gatekeeper’s sentence was cut short as Eisenberg
shoved the muzzle of his sawed-off shotgun into the man’s face.
“Let
me in,” Eisenberg silently demanded.
“Yes,
sir,” the guard wheezed. He pressed a button by his waist, which opened the
large doors before the truck.
“Have
a nice day,” Eisenberg whispered. As the truck drove into the complex, the
Empress let out a shrill roar.
Listen, Eisenberg, that guard is probably having a
rough enough day as it is. Don’t be a douche.
Deep
underground, in the massive tunnels of the Pilot ship, Jimrakh, Harrison and
the Aliens continued their adventure deeper into the darkness.
“Geez,
Swift-Death hasn’t answered for a bit. Maybe we should contact him,” Harrison
suggested.
“He is
on a hunt. If he is to be interrupted, Swift-Death will surely loose
concentration and his prey will escape,” Jimrakh snarled.
God forbid he should loose his concentration on
them. Though it’s probably in everyone’s interest that we never hear from
Swift-Death again.
“For
Christ sake! Doesn’t your species take anyone’s life into mind?” Harrison
questioned.
They
are a race of space-rapists no they do not.
“I do,
for I will to protect my Empress and my species. I will even go to protecting
you and your kind, if I have to.”
“Then
why do you think the Predator’s should be left to die?”
Jimrakh
paused for a moment, jaws closed. The Aliens behind them silently growled,
wondering what their brother’s explanation would be.
“I
thought Swift-Death and I have told you,” Jimrakh began. “The long fight
between my kind and the Yautja has raged on, even after when my species claimed
possession of this world. In other circumstances, I would have killed
Swift-Death the first time I met him, but I needed all the help I could get in
order to save the Empress. The only time I would admire one of his kind is if a
Yautja protected the Empress from certain death.”
“Then
why couldn’t you two species just work it out, evolve to become allies instead
of enemies. None of this would have happened if you weren’t warring.”
“Who
are you to decide four million years of evolution?” Jimrakh asked wisely. The
Alien was right; the humans could do nothing to stop this madness. It was the
war of the Aliens and the Predators, and no one could interfere.
But
that was exactly what Rykov and Eisenberg had done.
That was what 13-year-old me thought what “deep”
meant. I’m just going to go and cry now.
Eisenberg
opened the door into the Complex’s control room, flanked by two combat
synthetics.
“We
have the Empress in containment. Radio down a dropship,” the doctor ordered.
“There
are currently no dropships in the air, sir,” a controller ordered.
“Then
get one in the air, now!” Eisenberg shouted.
“Is
there a problem, sir?” a technician asked.
“Yes,
the fact that I’m being followed by a pack of Aliens and a sadistic Marine who
just won’t die!”
To be fair to Eisenberg that is quite a problem.
“Rig
the corridors with turrets,” a soldier commanded. A pair of technicians raced
off to the armoury, trying to avoid Eisenberg’s flaming glare.
“How
long until the dropship will be able to reach here?” Eisenberg asked, starting
to calm down.
“Well,
there’s refueling and preparation, plus one Hell of a storm is coming up. . . “
another controller started.
“The
time,” Eisenberg growled.
“At
least two hours, sir,” the controller wheezed.
Eisenberg
stood for a moment, staring out of the window and on to the rust-coloured
landing pad. “Keep on full alert. We can’t let any of these lizards to get
through.”
“Yes,
sir!” the controller replied, as he began to radio orders.
“Time
to die,” Eisenberg spoke softly, thinking about the Alien who had caused almost
the complete downfall of the Lv-1201 project. In other words, he wasn’t getting
off 1201 until Jimrakh was dead.
Well what other Alien could he have been thinking
of? Certainly he couldn’t be more reprehensible than Jimrakh.
All
the way across the complex, near the primary doors, two technicians set up an
arsenal of turrets in the hallways.
“There,”
one of them said. “No bug is going to get into this building without their
chest receiving two thousand rounds.”
“Good,
let’s get back to command,” the other said. As he packed up a tool chest, he
looked up to see something behind the other.
“What
the - “ he began, “Behind you!” His partner whipped around. Nothing there.
“Geez,
you’re on the edge,” the man said. The other was baffled. He could have sworn
that something had just poked its head out of a vent nearby.
“I’m
positive I saw something,” the first repeated. Again, the mysterious head poked
out.
“There!
I saw it again!”
“Sure.
Right on,” the second said sarcastically. As he turned around to go back to Operations,
the head, revealed to be Alien, poked out and stayed there, staring at the
humans.
“Oh,
my God,” they both said. “Run!” the first groaned.
“I’ve
got a gun, just wait,” the second calmed. He slowly pulled out a pistol, but
unbeknownst to both, another Alien, Jimrakh, uncurled from behind them. Slowly,
he opened his arms wide and snapped them together, crushing the first
technician’s head. The second whipped around and screamed. CRACK. He was dead
too, his head falling to the ground.
The
two Aliens dropped out of their respective vents and made for the turrets. The
guns were down as fast as the human. Harrison, pulse rifle in hand, entered
through the main doors seconds later.
“Alright,
there are a lot of guards around here, so we have to be quiet,” the Marine
ordered.
“I’m
sorry, but your way is going to get us killed,” Jimrakh objected. “In other
words, do what I do: kill anything that moves.”
I’m pretty sure that was already Harrison’s idea,
but fine, cool.
“Good
idea,” Harrison responded, pumping his rifle.
He
made his way forward, Jimrakh and the other Aliens crawling on the ceiling
behind him. Harrison activated the keypad near the next large door. Almost
immediately, gunfire ricochet off the walls near them.
“Well
isn’t this nice,” the soldier said sarcastically. As he prepared to fire a
grenade, the Aliens stormed into the corridor, killing the Corporates in half
the time. Harrison stared in amazement as the last soldier’s head fell to the
ground.
Provided Harrison is only a jackass and not psychopathic
like everyone else he’s encountered, he’s going to have some serious PTSD after this.
“We
haven’t much time. Your scientists are probably preparing to leave the planet!”
Jimrakh warned.
“Your
ruler. You better save her,” Harrison grumbled. They ran down identical
tunnels, filled with similar Corporates and soldiers. It seemed as if the main
landing pad would never be near.
“I’m
running low on ammo,” Harrison grumbled. “You’re going to be doing a lot of
more work than me.”
“Happy
to oblige. It’s almost my job,” Jimrakh grinned. The journey soon became
harder. Turrets blasted at the hunters, bullets killing some of the Aliens.
I know there’s a lot of pressure on Harrison to
stop Eisenberg from getting to Earth with the Empress, but theoretically he
could book it back to his comrades and have them use their military grade arsenal to blow WY’s ship out of orbit. Granted, the
Empress would be killed and the Aliens would lose their somehow
individuality-enabling hive mind, but it’s clear that he could not give a damn
about Jimrakh and his kind at this point. That he’s still tagging along is
hilarious, and I think I was wrong about him being the Dennis of the group.
He’s clearly Charlie.
“There,
we’re near Operations,” Harrison sighed in relief. “The landing pad should be
near. I need to shut off the landing beacon and restrict the dropships access.
You need to cause some Hell.” Jimrakh and the remaining Aliens nodded. They ran
off down another tunnel, and Harrison loaded a fresh clip into his gun. “Let’s
rock.”
Meh
tse khan, bitches.
Eisenberg
paced around the control room. The dropship was going to be arriving soon, but
he couldn’t help but worry about the reports of attacking Alien. Rykov hadn’t
answered any of the complex’s transmissions in a while. Hopefully the general
was wise enough to get to a landing pad or clearing in time.
In which the villain showcases more empathy than
two of the protagonists combined. Good Lord.
He
looked down at the truck in a nearby garage. The Empress was shaking
vigourously; none of the sedatives had worked on her, for her tough, shell-like
hide had resisted all forms of drugs. He was worrying even more that the Aliens
would soon answer her calls and attack the landing pad.
I can’t help but imagine Eisenberg trying to jab
the Empress in her carapace with a syringe like that one scene in Pulp Fiction.
“Sergeant,”
Eisenberg said to a soldier over a headset, “what’s the situation?”
“Let
me put it this way: it’s weird. A pack of Aliens and a Marine are tearing up
the place. They’re nearing your area,” the sergeant replied. Eisenberg’s hand
twitched in fear. As he held it still, Eisenberg glanced at a readout screen;
the dropship would be here in ten minutes.
“Hold
them off as long as you can,” he ordered.
“But
sir - “ the soldier started.
“Just
do it,” Eisenberg interrupted.
“Yes,
sir,” the soldier said weakly.
The
doctor locked the door to Operations and made his way down a stairway nearby to
the garage. He would wait by the Empress until the dropship came. All he had to
do was wait.
Awww, Eisenberg. You almost feel bad for him.
Harrison
reached the door to Operations only seconds after Eisenberg left. Locked. He
hammered his fist on the steel frame and went back down the stairs.
Downstairs,
Harrison realized that the Aliens had caused a lot of chaos. Barely any
Corporates were left, their mutilated bodies distributed around the room.
Jimrakh, the only Alien remaining, ran up to the soldier.
“What’s
wrong?” the Alien asked.
“Can’t
get into the control room,” Harrison replied. “We’re going to have to raid the
landing pad.”
“Good
idea, how about I start it off? Jimrakh suggested.
“No. I
need to get some credit,” the soldier said. He opened the nearest door to the landing
pad and ran out.
No you don’t, Harrison. Run! Go! Get to da choppah!
“Dumbass
humans. They’re going to get themselves killed,” Jimrakh growled.
Out on
the landing platform, Harrison searched for Eisenberg.
“Where
is that goddamn cretin?” Harrison grumbled.
“Good
evening, Andrew,” a voice said out of nowhere. Harrison whipped around, and saw
Eisenberg stepping out of the shadows.
“Put
your hands in the air or you’re going to lose your head. You’re under arrest
for murdering Company personnel for scientific gain,” Harrison warned.
“Harrison,
Harrison, Harrison,” Eisenberg grinned. “You just can’t throw accusations at
anyone.”
Seeing as you faked
his death and threw him in a cell I’m pretty sure he has carte blanche to.
“Oh, I
have proof,” the Marine growled. “Now, I said put your hands in the air.”
“You
know, nobody told you the truth about the Observation Post 1 incident,”
Eisenberg started. “They never told you what really happened to your fiancée.”
“Of
course they did. The Aliens got her.”
“No,
Harrison. I killed her.”
Harrison
was stunned. For years he thought that his fiancée was killed by some
unimaginable accident. And now the truth was revealed ever so suddenly.
What a twist!
“Well,
indirectly. I was using Company personnel to breed Aliens even then. It’s hard
to find bipedal humanoids like us on this planet for hosts. Personnel are often
to best way to go.”
What an understated twist!
“You
callous son of a bitch. Why did you have to start doing this?”
“Oh, I
didn’t start this. Weyland-Yutani has been trying to breed Aliens for years.
Why, since 2122, in fact,” Eisenberg revealed. “I used your fiancée as a host.
The same with other members of the research team. Still, they’re smart, and it
wasn’t long until the remaining members figured out how they had been killed.
So, they took me prisoner, in my own research facility. Luckily, I had trained
the Aliens to attack when I wanted them too. They raided the Observation Post,
killing everyone except me.” Eisenberg flinched. Harrison had noticed that the
doctor’s right forearm had been twitching for the last few minutes.
Remember all the foreshadowing I’ve included
throughout the majority of the story? Well it’s about to become mildly
important.
“Still,
those Aliens can’t be trusted. They’re truly animals, doing anything they
wanted. They viciously attacked me, and I barely held them off. I killed them
all, but I left with a wound that remains on my skin even today.”
“What
the Hell are you talking about? You said you don’t have a cut on your body,”
Harrison snarled.
“Oh,
really?” Eisenberg smiled. He proceeded to remove the glove from his right
forearm. Harrison gasped.
Beneath
the glove was the worst rendition of a forearm anyone had seen. It was skeletal
and made of metal. Thin, plastic tubes pumped white, hydraulic blood through
the apparatus, allowing the bony fingers to move. It was like this right up to
his elbow.
robo
arm oh shiiiiiii
“The
X-337 model. The Aliens had torn-up my arm too much. I had the synthetic skin
removed in order to not dampen its strength. Why, this could punch a man twenty
feet through the air,” Eisenberg explained.
Suddenly,
Harrison got the idea. “Oh, shit.” Eisenberg slammed his fist hard into
Harrison’s chest, indeed sending him twenty feet through the air. He slammed
into the windows of Operations, shattering them. He lay on the Operations’
floor for a while, unconscious.
God bless young me and my then complete lack of
understanding of physics. The recoil on such a punch would have driven
Eisenberg right through the landing platform. Of course, it’s not like science
really factors into anything at this point.
“Piece
of cake,” Eisenberg said. As he turned around, he came face to face with
Jimrakh, jaws open wide.
“Holy
crap!” the doctor exclaimed. He jumped back just as the Alien’s inner set of
jaws launched out. While the Alien tried to ‘reload’ his weapon, Eisenberg
pulled out a shotgun and some ammo from a holster on his back. He fired two
shots at the Alien, but Jimrakh’s quick reflexes had him dodge the blasts.
Eisenberg
backpedaled, blasting away at the xenomorph. Each time, Jimrakh reflected the
shot pellets off his barbed tail blade. Once, Jimrakh got up close, but was
knocked down by the butt end of the shotgun.
Only once, though. Jesus, I couldn’t have written a
good fight scene even with a gun to my head.
“For
Christ’s sake, what do I have to do to kill you things?” Eisenberg screamed in
anger. After he pumped out a few more blasts, Eisenberg heard the inevitable
click-click of an empty clip. “Shit!” he groaned. He started a dead sprint for
a loading crane across the landing pad. Jimrakh, determined to get his kill. He
watched as the doctor opened the door into the crane drive room, got in, and
slammed the hatch shut. Confused, Jimrakh screeched in his native tongue, and
prepared to ram the crane. Unfortunately, Eisenberg swung the large and heavy
crane hook at the Alien. Jimrakh barely got in a snarl before the solid-iron
attachment slammed into his body, sending him flying off the platform.
Inside
the crane, Eisenberg sighed in relief, assured that the Alien threat was
temporarily delayed. Humming to himself, Eisenberg loaded a fresh clip into the
shotgun. He was unaware, however, that a swift and mysterious shape had crawled
back up onto the landing pad and up the thick chain that had knocked it off. In
a flash, Jimrakh pounced at the drive chamber, his inner set of jaws punching
through the glass. Eisenberg swore and kicked open the hatch. He high-tailed it
out of the crane as fast as a human could run. But Aliens are faster.
Who would have guessed?!? Certainly not the guy who regularly bred them.
Up in
Operations, Harrison opened his eyes and crawled back up on his feet. The pain
in his chest had dulled, but it was enough to almost make the soldier vomit.
Is his defence, a punch powerful enough to send him
flying 20 feet would have shattered his sternum, so I think his projectile
vomiting could be excused, even preferred.
He
stumbled his way to the window he had flown into and viewed the landing pad
below. He was surprised to see that Eisenberg had lasted such a long time
against Jimrakh. He looked farther up, past the high complex walls, and saw, on
the horizon, a group of blinking lights. It meant only one thing: the Company
dropship would be at the Complex very soon.
Harrison
needed to think fast. There had to be some way to get the dropship out of the
air. Communications wouldn’t work, for WY wouldn’t listen to him. And he had no
weapons strong enough to bring the ship down. Then an idea caught his mind. He
searched the airwaves for the Tyrago frequencies, and then located the
remaining dropship.
“Dropship
2, do you copy?” he asked over a radio.
The faint
sound of Johnson’s voice came over the speaker. “Frosty?” she asked. “What the
Hell is happening?”
“I’m
at the complex. The Company dropship is going to arrive soon for the Empress,
and I can’t get it out of the air. I need you guys to do it. Can you help?”
“Well,”
McCain’s voice started. “The Company soldiers are nothing but smoking craters,
so we can spare some time. Where’s the dropship?”
“As
far as I can tell, 50 kilometers north of the complex. You need to work fast,”
Harrison instructed.
“Already
there,” Johnson replied, and she switched off the radio. The only thing for
Harrison to do now was wait.
And scream constantly, seeing as he’s likely
walking around with a shattered ribcage.
Back
down on the landing platform, Eisenberg was putting up a Hell of a fight
against the Alien who plagued him.
“Day
after day, after day, for the past six weeks, you - pitiful creatures have been
ruining my life. And now,” he began, almost sadistically, “I will rid my being
of the darkness you cause!”
…………………..
Jimrakh
stayed silent. Concentration played a large part in this battle. He repelled
another shot off his tail and hissed. A small bit of buckshot had blown a chunk
off his tail. Eisenberg smiled, but his expression quickly changed to horror as
he witnessed the wound regenerating.
“Why
won’t you DIE?!” screamed Eisenberg. He pumped more and more blasts out of his
shotgun, hoping that it might at least deter the dark beast.
“Dropship
3, this is Eisenberg. When will you be here?” the doctor questioned over his
headset.
“We’re
at top speed, but it’ll take us five minutes,” the dropships’ pilot answered.
“Well,
hurry up, because I can’t keep this fight up forever!”
“Sir,
we’ll be there soon.”
Five
minutes away, in Dropship 3, the pilot stared uneasily out the front view port.
“What the Hell is going on?” he asked.
“Captain,
we’re picking up a reading on our sensors,” the co-pilot said.
“What
is it?”
“It’s.
. . another dropship. What the Hell?” They both stared out the view port.
Seconds past, and the other dropship came into view.
“Well
what the. . . “ the pilot began uneasily. Just then, both noticed the banner
painted across the side of the cockpit. It read Rescue the hostages; waste the
enemy. 9th Regiment, 2nd Battalion. Then it hit them like a bullet: it was a
USCM dropship.
“Jesus
Christ!” the pilot shouted. He tried to bank the ship, but was too slow.
Johnson, in the other dropship’s cockpit, unloaded three homing missiles at the
WY shuttle. It blew apart in an orange ball of fire.
“Piece
of cake,” Johnson said in the Marine dropship. “Now to finish the job.” The
dropship did a 180-degree turn and headed for the Auxiliary Landing Complex.
Jesus, what’s with everyone in this story saying
“piece of cake”? I was awful.
Now,
on the landing platform, everything had gone to Hell. Eisenberg was on his last
clip of shotgun cartridges, and Jimrakh was closing in more than ever before.
Finally,
Eisenberg saw the dropship appear overhead of the landing pad.
“Remaining
soldiers,” Eisenberg commanded over his headset. “Kill the Marine in
Operations.”
“Yes,
sir,” said a guard over the intercom. Soon enough, five soldiers rushed out of
the building and on to the landing platform. Harrison, inside Operations,
raised his hands, realizing defeat.
Unfortunately,
Eisenberg never expected his own dropship to turn against him. With Johnson and
McCain at the controls, the ship hammered minigun round after minigun round
into the guards below. Blood spat out of their mouths, and then all was silent,
excepting roar of the dropship’s engines. It hovered over to the shattered
window of Operations, where it stopped right in front of Harrison. The Marine
leaped on top of the dropship, lowering himself down the side. Seconds later,
the ramp opened, and Duke and Ivan pulled the Marine into the ship.
Moments
passed, and the whine of the engines increased. Its afterburners flared, and
the dropship soared away.
“No,
no!” Eisenberg screamed. Angrily, he pumped buckshot into the dropship. The
ferry’s strong armour repelled the blasts.
Oh that mental image is too funny. I take that
back, past me.
“This
can’t be happening!” he cried once more. Furious, he growled over his headset.
“Destroy the Empress! She will not gloat over me!” But no one answered; all the
soldiers had either fled or been killed.
“No!”
Eisenberg shouted once again. Blazing with fury, he turned his shotgun on
Jimrakh, who had been grinning at the sight of the dropship escaping.
“You!”
Eisenberg growled, and he aimed the gun at the Alien. Unfortunately for the
scientist, his gun was all out of ammo. He searched the ground for any weapons
possible. The only things he saw were the empty shotgun shells strewn about the
ground. He picked up the seven shells closest to him, and began hurling the
cartridges at Jimrakh.
“C’mon,
you want some candy?!” Eisenberg teased violently. It did absolutely nothing to
the Alien, who only screeched in anger.
If Eisenberg’s frustrated exclamation seems
incredibly out of place, it’s because I cribbed a line from Bill Paxton’s
character in Predator 2. Because why
not at this point.
Eisenberg
made the decision to run for his life.
A pretty good decision, all things considered.
He
started a dead sprint toward an open corridor the guards had run out of minutes
before. He made it, but the hatch at the end of the hallway was locked, and
Jimrakh was now blocking the only exit.
The
lights flickered on and off, creating a strobe effect. Nowhere to run, nowhere
to hide.
“What?
You’re just going to stand there?” Eisenberg questioned maniacally. Apparently,
Jimrakh wasn’t, as he began to walk toward the scientist in a raptor stance.
Actually, taking a step back from all this, can we
make the raptor stance the next dance craze?
Eisenberg
searched everywhere for a way out. He found it: a two-foot long machete,
dropped carelessly by one of the soldiers. He grabbed the blade and held it
high, his left eye twitching like mad.
If that machete also seems out of place, it’s
because I also cribbed this bit from Predator
2, which I must have thought was the acme of cinema at this point in my
life.
“Let’s
dance!” he screamed. With the knife in hand, Eisenberg rushed the Alien. No
use, as the Alien’s spindly right hand caught the scientist across the chest,
making him sail down the corridor, landing painfully on his back. Jimrakh
strode over to Eisenberg, reaching out with one hand, and grabbing the human’s
neck. He lifted Eisenberg so that the scientist was above the Alien’s head
level. Eisenberg screamed in terror. Then it was all over as the lights finally
went out.
But let’s be absolutely clear: the lights have not
gone out on this feature—at least not yet! We still have another month to go
before we examine the concluding chapter of my preteen epic. For now: courage.
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