You were wandering through the dark, narrow hallways of an abandoned spacecraft, the hum of its failing systems barely audible beneath your breath. Every step you took echoed, amplifying the feeling that you were completely alone—too alone.

And then you heard it.

The skittering. The sound of claws scraping against metal. It wasn’t quite a growl, not yet—a sound too chilling to describe, a hum in the air that made your skin crawl. Your heart rate spiked.

You froze.

Your eyes darted around, searching for the source of the noise. There, in the shadows ahead of you, it emerged.

A massive, sleek black form. The Xenomorph.

Its elongated head tilted slightly, as if it were studying you. Its alien face—pale, smooth, and unreadable—had no eyes, only a cavernous, gleaming mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. Its elongated tail thrashed, twitching in anticipation. It was fast, the way its limbs moved unnaturally, the way it seemed to flow across the room with an almost predatory grace.

The Xenomorph didn’t rush toward you immediately, though. No, it seemed to observe you, slow and deliberate, its alien head tracking every little movement you made.