Elias couldn't look away.
The translucent system window hovered before him, unwavering, merciless.
His reflection barely registered in the glassy surface—pale, hollow-eyed, unmoving.
[Devon Brooks — Status: Deceased.]
The name was grayed out.
Nine others remained.
Nine faces. Nine lives. Still glowing.
His chest felt tight. His throat burned. This wasn't like watching Alien in his past life, sitting comfortably behind a screen, knowing it was fiction.
This time, it was real. Horribly real.
And worse—
I'm the reason it exists, Elias thought.
The system did not comment.
It never did.
.
.
.
Triskelion — SHIELD Headquarters
The alarm had already done its job.
Agents poured through the hangar levels, armored vests snapping into place, weapons checked and rechecked with mechanical precision.
The air buzzed with urgency.
"A federal detention facility is under active attack," the briefing officer shouted over the noise.
"Unknown hostile organism. Extreme lethality."
Phil Coulson adjusted his jacket as he walked briskly toward the Quinjet, expression tight but focused.
"ETA?" he asked.
"Ten minutes."
Coulson nodded once. "That's all we've got."
This kind of situation—unknown threat, civilian danger, incomplete intel—this was exactly what SHIELD existed for.
Still… ten minutes was an eternity.
.
.
.
Federal Detention Facility — Night
Elias watched.
Through the system's forced perspective, the world unfolded in brutal clarity.
The alien moved.
Too fast.
It darted through corridors and ceilings like gravity was optional, its elongated body folding and unfolding with terrifying grace.
Officers regrouped behind it, trying to follow its last known position.
They were already too late.
The creature leapt upward, claws tearing effortlessly through reinforced concrete.
Ceiling panels shattered as it disappeared, reemerging several meters away.
Gunfire erupted.
Shots echoed uselessly.
None landed.
Shouts rang out—confusion, panic, disbelief.
Some officers froze where they stood, hands trembling too badly to even raise their weapons.
The alien reached another cell block.
Six of the remaining gangsters were inside.
Elias recognized them instantly.
Their eyes were wide, whites stark against their skin as they retreated to the farthest corner of the cell.
One stumbled and fell, scrambling backward on his hands like an animal trapped in a cage.
The creature approached slowly.
Its head tilted.
The edges of its mouth brushed against the cell door as if studying it—analyzing structure, resistance, weakness.
It was unnecessary.
It simply grabbed the door.
Metal screamed.
The hinges tore free like brittle twigs.
The door fell inward with a crash.
Screaming erupted.
The prisoners lost all composure—some collapsed, others pressed themselves against the wall, knees giving out beneath them.
The surrounding cells went silent.
No shouting.
No taunts.
No movement.
Survival instinct had taken over.
Footsteps thundered from behind.
Seven—maybe eight—officers finally reached the scene, weapons raised, courage scraped together by desperation.
"GET DOWN!" the lead officer barked.
The prisoners obeyed instantly, throwing themselves to the floor.
Gunfire erupted again.
Bullets tore into the alien's body.
It screamed.
A shrill, inhuman sound that echoed through the block.
For a brief, terrible second, it looked like it might work.
Then the magazines ran dry.
Smoke rose.
Not from the alien.
From the prisoners.
Elias' breath hitched.
Their bodies twitched, then went still.
Acidic blood—sprayed back from the alien's wounds—had washed over them.
All six were dead.
Not by the creature's claws—
But by the officers' bullets.
Tears blurred Elias' vision. Make no mistake, it wasn't sympathy or emphathy.
It simply looked human.
The system updated.
[Remaining Enemies: 3]
The alien didn't rush out.
It turned.
The officers barely had time to react.
One was seized, lifted effortlessly, skull pierced clean through by the inner jaw.
Another was impaled mid-scream, tail punching through his chest and pinning him to the wall like a grotesque trophy.
A third tried to run.
Didn't make it three steps.
The rest died just as quickly—efficient, brutal, final.
The corridor fell silent again.
Three targets remained.
The alien lifted its head.
And moved.
.
.
.
Ten minutes later.
All three remaining enemies were dead.
The alien stood motionless in the ruined corridor, slick black blood dripping slowly from bullet wounds that should have killed it long ago.
Its directive—absolute and unyielding—had been fulfilled.
All designated enemies eliminated.
With no further instructions, it turned away from the carnage.
Its elongated body coiled and uncoiled as it moved toward the outer structure of the prison, claws biting into concrete as it prepared to leave.
Await further command.
That was when SHIELD arrived.
Floodlights cut through the darkness.
The perimeter was sealed in seconds.
STRIKE teams formed disciplined lines, weapons already trained on the creature.
"Target sighted," a voice barked through comms.
"Fire."
Another rain of bullets tore into the alien.
It screamed again—shrill, piercing—but it did not fall immediately.
Its body was already riddled with holes from earlier engagements, acidic blood hissing as it struck the ground.
Still, it took sustained fire before its movements finally slowed.
Elias watched through the system's interface, heart pounding violently in his chest.
Stop—!
You don't understand—!
He wanted to scream. To warn them.
But the restriction remained.
And worse—
He already knew what was coming.
Minutes Earlier — System Log
The moment the last enemy died, a new prompt had appeared before Elias' eyes.
Enemies eliminated.
[Objective: COMPLETE.]
He had barely processed it before the next lines followed.
[Rewards to the Judge & Host:
• 3 Eggs transferred to Host's Inventory
• 6 Eggs automatically deployed
Location: Federal Detention Facility — Rooftop
Status: Matured ]
Elias' blood had run cold.
Six.
Six more.
.
.
Back to the Present — Federal Detention Facility
The alien finally collapsed at the main entrance, its massive form shuddering once before going still.
"Target down," Rumlow reported.
STRIKE teams moved in, sweeping the interior with practiced efficiency.
Specialists followed close behind, already preparing containment protocols for the creature's body.
Phil Coulson arrived moments later, listening intently as Rumlow gave a rapid update.
"Casualties are high," Rumlow said grimly.
"But there are survivors. Officers who didn't engage early."
Coulson nodded, eyes scanning the scene.
Fear had saved them.
The STRIKE team regarded the surviving officers with something close to disdain—but said nothing.
Rumlow stepped toward them, preparing to ask what had happened—
When it struck.
Six shapes dropped from above in rapid succession.
Facehuggers.
They leapt with terrifying precision.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
Two were hit midair, bursting apart in sprays of acid that forced the agents back.
The remaining four landed.
Locked.
Panic exploded across the facility.
Men screamed as the creatures tightened their grip, tails coiling around throats.
Agents rushed forward—then froze as they realized the truth.
Struggle meant death.
The more the victims fought, the tighter the creatures squeezed.
They stopped.
Unbeknownst to them, the process had already begun.
By the time Coulson reached the scene, the facehuggers had detached and lay lifeless on the ground.
Four officers were unconscious, breathing shallowly.
"Medical. Now," Coulson ordered.
The victims were immediately isolated, loaded onto stretchers for full scans.
The dead creatures were secured by specialists.
Elias watched helplessly.
SHIELD was doing everything right—
And still making it worse.
The facility was locked down.
Survivors weren't transferred elsewhere.
They were kept here.
Together.
Medical transports were still minutes away when one of the unconscious men suddenly jolted awake.
Then screamed.
"My chest—!" he gasped.
"It hurts—get it out—GET IT OUT OF ME—!"
The other three followed almost immediately.
Chest pain.
Panic.
Realization.
They tore open their uniforms as their chests bulged grotesquely—
And ruptured.
Four creatures burst free, screaming.
This time, SHIELD didn't hesitate.
Weapons were raised instantly.
Three were gunned down mid-leap.
The fourth escaped—vanishing into the upper levels before anyone could stop it.
That's the difference between professionals who were trained and normal police officers.
Coulson barked orders without missing a beat.
"Find it. Full sweep. No blind spots."
The hunt lasted until dawn.
By the time the sun threatened the horizon, the last creature was finally neutralized.
Every trace was contained.
Every witness silenced.
Every body left where it fell.
The facility itself was repurposed overnight.
A base.
Black vehicles arrived one by one.
Coulson waited as a familiar figure stepped out first.
Tall. Bald. One eye sharp with barely restrained fury.
Nick Fury.
He didn't look pleased.
"Tell me everything, Coulson," Fury said coldly.
"Yes, sir," Coulson replied.
Then hesitated.
"Before that… let me ask you something."
Fury turned slowly.
Coulson didn't wait for permission.
"Have you ever watched a movie called Aliens?"
Fury stared at him.
The look said everything.
MOTHERFUCKER.
End of Chapter 8