The recycled oxygen was stale, but breathable; it was a miracle that the station's scrubbers remained functional.

I swept ahead, the tac-lite of my pulse rifle a flickering cone of pale yellow. What a fucking mess. The USS Almeyer had been lost, its defenders either captured or killed by the shadow-clad parasites that now infested the frigate's bowels; dissonant, alien trills echoed about the labyrinth of saturnine corridors and flaring emergency lights.

Perhaps we'd a chance at routing the infestation all but an hour ago, a full contingent of 50 badass, ball-busting commandos of the Unites States Colonial Marines landing at the Weston-Yamada research colony of LV-624. Throwing so much at s small colony's distress beacon seemed like overkill at the time, but corporate interest were our interest; it was an infestation...

Xenomorphs - dozens. They'd swarmed us. Ripping and tearing, gnashing and lacerating with ebon claws and chrome-glimmered fangs. In less that 40 minutes we'd been pushed to the brink, forced to retreat to our atmospheric fortress. We thought there'd be reprieve, time to mourn and rearm; wrong.

What followed was what I would have expected from a plague of locusts: they stripped the walls of alloy, replacing it with a webway of fluted chitin and organic resin. The stale stench of it besieged my senses. I checked my rifle's digital ammunition counter: 7 rounds remaining. Well, shit.

We'd taken a hit in here somewhere; too many bodies, way too much blood for this one section of corridor. The floor was slick with gore, viscera spattered everywhere, chunks of meat missing.

I could hear them stirring in the vents, circling like white-bellied sharks. Run.

My boots clanged on metal as I ran, following the curve of the corridor, searching for cover, scanning for threats. There was no sign of hostiles; maybe I'd escaped? No. Of course not, a pair of sable talons erupting from the vents below, seizing my ankles. My heart lurched into a gallop, pounding so loud I couldn't think straight. The alien yanked me down, dragging me back against the wall. Sharp pain flared through my shoulder, driving spikes of agony up my arm.

I scraped for the M41A's trigger, but then the creature's claws were gone and it was simply holding me aloft in the sub-chamber below, pinning me to the wall with its weight. Its maw gaped open, revealing a ring of serrated teeth.

I'd hoped to join my fallen brothers and sisters once more; no luck. Rather, something peculiar happened.

The xenomorph's head turned to the side; the smooth, curved plate of its brow nudging against my cheek. They were unspeaking monstrosities, mute bioweapons that acted on pheromonal directives. Perhaps it was trying to communicate – perhaps it was merely curious. Either way, it allowed me to live.

I'd have detonated an M15, had I one. Repulsed by the slick-shelled horror's display, its powerful claws running over the ceramite of my chest-plate; trenchant digits rapped along the dented surface.

Pressed against each other, hidden in the hollowed out maintenance shaft, the alien pressed inward. I felt its breath warm my neck as it breathed heavily upon me; a staccato rhythm of clicks and hisses echoing around the chamber. It was larger than the average specimen; two meters long, covered with a chitinous carapace thick enough to deflect the most small arms fire. Despite the creature's unnatural coolness, there was a strength warmth spreading along my lap.

It nuzzled me, aching to have these abnormal affections returned. I wanted to scream, but instead let out a soft groan of relief, surrendering to the inevitable, to the prying arms of this glossy-shelled vixen. The xenomorph was very much a female, only distinguished by the polished mound between its inky thighs.

I'd never known a xenomorph to take a liking to -- well, anything. They lived by the will of their queen, locusts that rearranged all life into a parasitic hive of endless consumption. These abominations had killed my fellow marines, turned our beloved vessel into a resin-lined maze of perpetual torment; yet I could not fight my budding curiosity. What forbidden delights lay beneath the alien's carapace?