Xenophilia -- Grant -- Part 1
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This is part of a project to touch up and publish an older series of works I had done in the past, placing them on Literotica. There are quite a few parts, so they will seem repetitive as more are updated, and since they are not being completely revised, they will show their age. There will also be some questionable content, and due to said age, may not be presented in the most palatable manner, as much as I may have believed I did those years ago. Please keep this in mind.
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Grant Birch had expected he'd be fighting things like this when he signed up for the USCMC. He'd heard the rumours, and despite the vague horror stories he'd listened to over his service, he felt it was his duty to be there and ready to fight these things to protect the human race.
He just never expected it'd be like this; alone, no backup, no support, and no idea where the next attack would come from. Sure, he was fully equipped, armoured up and laden with his ammo and weaponry. He thought he was the only one in his squad who was... before he became the only one left. He cursed quietly as he swept his M41A across a hallway, eyes going from one vent to the other. Nothing. He shone his flashlight into the vents to be sure, and made out no shapes... but he knew better than to be complacent now.
Their dark appearance allowed them to blend into the artificial surroundings of the colony, at least outside of the well-lit areas and brightly coloured rooms. But he wasn't in such a place, the lights flickering or simply not functioning in places, and working perfectly in others. Moreover, he was in a more industrial part of the colony... trying to make his way to the comms tower, as per protocol; if separated or if lacking any standing orders, fall back to the comms tower, access it by any means necessary, and then hold it down until further notice.
Unfortunately for Grant, he was on the other side of the Colony when it happened, and he still wondered how the hell he managed to get to the armoury to get geared up without any of those things catching him... and then he did the stupid thing and went looking for his squad mates instead of making his way to the tower. Now he had to trek back through these halls through what was now effectively enemy territory; he'd already encountered a few of the creatures, and saw them off with a few short bursts of his rifle.
They seemed less inclined to face him now, but that only made him more worried; they kept to the shadows and avoided being seen in clear detail, but they had no qualms about snatching people in front of others, and in quick succession at that. But for him, they weren't showing their faces at all... they weren't being bold, which only led him to assume they were biding their time and preparing an ambush. He checked his motion tracker, pulling the somewhat bulky piece of equipment up from his belt; he saw no blips, but that didn't mean they weren't there... lying in wait, just itching for the right opportunity to pounce.
He checked his weapon; 63 rounds in the first magazine, and he had a few more on his belt. He also had loaded grenades, but he cursed the fact he likely would never get to use them in such tight quarters; anything that was more likely to kill these fuckers was a good thing in his books, but not if it killed him in the process. He had his pistol, but he hoped he wouldn't have to use that, not any time soon at least. He checked his ammo counter again, and grimaced; sure, he still had around sixty percent of his first magazine left, but
none
of the rounds he'd already fired hit any targets. They knew very well what he had in his hands, and since he tried to spray a few of them down, they were being extra cautious.
At least it meant they weren't dogging his every step, but he was afraid of how much resistance they'd put up once they decided to strike. Worst of all, he couldn't simply get into their head; they weren't some hapless, poorly trained terrorist group, or even a well-trained force of soldiers. They were
aliens
, and therefore, their motivations were alien. Even if he could translate them into human concepts, how they conducted themselves would still not be entirely human.
It would be difficult to predict what they would do, or how much force they'd be willing to employ to deal with him. At the very least, he knew they had a sense of self-preservation, and that meant he could use that to give himself some breathing room... unless they decided their lives were no longer important.
He peaked around a corner, sweeping his gun across the hallway, and then turned around to check the opposite side of the intersection. Again, nothing, but the claw marks on one wall in the direction he needed to go, and the scattered paperwork and folders on the ground did not ease the tension he was feeling.
"Fuck... alright, remember your training... just... don't forget you don't have anyone watching your back," he reminded himself. He'd been trained in close quarters combat, but he did not have much experience outside of exercises... but it was the lack of teammates that he was most concerned with. No one to watch his back, no one to call out if something was going to come up from behind and blindside him. He'd have to be extra careful, but he didn't have much to work with, and he couldn't see out the back of his skull.
As he advanced down the hallway, keeping to one wall, he made sure to turn around and check behind him, whilst looking up and checking the ceiling, making sure none of those things was clinging to the roof and waiting to drop down. The numerous conduits and pipes covering that ran along the ceiling would've made it difficult to check for danger at the best of times. He came to another intersection, this time a four-way crossroad. He only needed to continue ahead to keep advancing towards the tower, but to either side of him were darkened hallways, the one to his left possessing only a single flickering light.
He shone his light down both hallways, and again, saw nothing... but he checked his motion tracker, just to be sure. No blips were showing, but the marine had a gnawing belief that they were waiting just outside the range of the tracker, where he couldn't detect them. Nonetheless, he moved forward, knowing that staying on the move was his best chance of survival until he reached the tower.
He knew the light would give him away, but he doubted it mattered, and it'd at least let him see what he was shooting at, and maybe spot something before it was too late. He took several steps forward, and looked behind himself, shining their light across the hallway he'd just come from... tensing up when he saw something move. It was only a brief flash, it could've been a simple shadow, but he wasn't liking his odds. It couldn't have been that simple. He took a few steps backwards, keeping his finger close to his trigger, though not quite on it just yet. He took a few more steps backwards, and then turned around, continuing to make his way towards the tower. He checked the map on his PDA, and plotted a route; the elevators that would've taken him to the top of the tower, where he needed to be, probably weren't working, and there were no stairs to the main observation and control deck.
There were, however, ladders in both the elevator shafts, and in their own separate tunnels. He could get to the second ladder shafts by cutting through the maintenance access hatches in the elevator shafts, since there was no guarantee he'd be able to open the top doors from the ladder compared to being down on the ground. And the separate ladders leading to the observation deck would've only had a pressure door that he could easily access.
The shafts were up ahead. He would've been able to open the hatches down below, get through to the hallways on the other side -- since, for some reason beyond him, the only way to get to the other side on the level he was on was via a long detour -- and make his way up the other ladders. As he neared his objective, he decided to take out his motion tracker and check it again... and paled when he saw the many, many dots that were converging on his position. He counted almost a dozen blips swiftly moving towards him from behind and from the intersection he'd just passed... some leaving the hallways and likely traveling through the vents leading to the rooms that flanked the corridors.
"Shit!" he cursed, putting his tracker away and bringing up his pulse rifle. He very much wished he could attach the tracker to the barrel of his gun... but unfortunately, he wasn't quite that lucky or crafty. He pressed up against a wall, and kept his gun 'down range' so to speak... until he saw several shapes peek out from around corners. He saw flashes of teeth, and heard the sound of claws scratching across metal grating. He immediately loosed a series of short bursts, the ammo counter going down from 63 to 59, to 54 and finally to 46. He slowly walked backwards, careful not to trip, flicking the barrel of his pulse rifle towards any hint of movement, and firing on any shape he saw. Again, he saw something try and emerge from their cover, and he let his gun issue forth a quick stream of bullets, the tell-tale, distinctive almost electronic report of the M41A echoing throughout the corridor.
He had some distance here, and he could've used his grenade launcher... but he was still hesitant to do so, lest he sever some vitally important piece of equipment or a power conduit, or anything. He saw a silhouette of an alien through a window in one of the rooms close to him, and so fired at the shape, shattering the glass and managing to hit the creature... he only grazed it, however, much to his frustration. It ducked down with an angry, pained shriek, and did not rise up from its position... but he knew it was still there, waiting and not moving until it was safe.
He fired off several more bursts, the ammo counter on his pulse rifle ticking down as he slowly expended his magazine. They were trying to push him now, and soon, he realised they were coordinating with each other so they could slowly advance. The creatures making their way through the vents entered the rooms to the sides, and made him focus on them so the aliens in the main hall could slowly advance up the corridor, keeping low but moving fast, and smashing their way through windows so they could avoid getting shot.
They moved from one room to the next, and some stayed where they were, knowing that they wouldn't be able to advance without him filling them full of caseless 10mm rounds. He grimaced, realising that they were making him expend ammo... but he had no choice. If he stopped firing, they'd charge him, and he did not want to bet on putting them down in close quarters, where he wouldn't likely get the second just behind the first he had promptly killed... still, that they were so keen on not dying as much as they were happy to snatch and no doubt murder their human victims gave Grant the advantage, able to keep them back long enough to make it to the elevators.
The maintenance hatch was next to the main doors. He didn't have time to get down and open the hatch... so, after firing a few more bursts down range, he turned around and shot out the hatch's latches, weakening it enough for him to kick it in. He proceeded to empty the mag as he saw an alien getting ballsy, trying to charge him. He managed to nick it across the shoulder, green blood splashing onto the floor. It hissed and ducked back into cover, whilst the blood sizzled rather menacingly on the ground, melting holes into the metal floor.
That, he had not known, and the revelation they had highly caustic blood did not sit well with him.
