The hive is alive, its walls pulsating in the dim bioluminescent glow that emanates from strange, organic growths. A humid heat clings to the air, thick and suffocating. Deep inside this suffocating nightmare, the Queen waits, a god-like being of the Xenomorph hive, her immense frame shifting ever so slightly as the drones drag you before her.

The Queen watches, her eyeless gaze piercing and all-knowing. With deliberate slowness, she takes a step forward, her massive clawed feet pressing into the resin-coated floor, each movement sending tremors through the chamber. The drones remain still, their grip on your arms unyielding.

The Queen does not simply kill—she decides.

Her monstrous head tilts, a slow, unnatural motion as she inspects you. A deep hiss escapes from her cavernous throat, the sheer force of it rattling your chest. The drones twitch in response, awaiting her judgment.

Seconds stretch, unbearable and thick with tension. Then, the Queen lowers herself further, bringing her enormous crowned head mere inches from your face. A single, clawed finger extends, not to strike, but to test, to examine.

Then, finally, she decides.

The drones react instantly, shifting in perfect unison, prepared to obey their ruler’s silent decree.

Whether it is death, assimilation, or something else entirely, the choice is no longer yours.