Xenomorphs were scary. No normal person could deny that. He could definitely feel that sentiment now. After all, there was one breathing less than a foot away from him. Brent sat behind a lab desk on the Malam, a research ship that was currently working on a mass producible solvent for semi-organics. If he moved, he was dead. The soft clicking of the exoskeleton chattered on the outside. It shifted around, looking. It could tell he was near, just not where. Brent heard it move closer. His breath held.

          He thought back to all the times he had gotten out with his body intact. There weren't many people who shared the same luck as him. Jeffrey hadn't, Gilligan hadn't, Jemma hadn't. None of them shared his luck. None of them shared his talent for cowardliness and selfishness. Brent stopped his reminiscing. Now was no time to stop paying attention. He stopped and listened. The soft thumping clack of nigh invincible chitin was gone.

          Brent smiled, then looked out from his hideout. The first thing his eyes saw was the black shell of the xenomorph's head. He let out a scream, barely slipping past it as it screeched and slashed at him, leaving a deep set of gouges on his torso. Brent yelled in pain, running as fast as he could. It took them time to accelerate, but it could very well catch up to him. He needed to get out of there and find another safe space. Something with a very large metal door preferably. He twisted and turned, not bothering to look back.

          As he ran for the cargo bay, his confidence grew. In all his time as a cargo pilot, he'd become good at one thing, and that was running. The door grew closer and closer. The screeches got louder and louder. When he crossed the threshold of the doorway, a tail speared through his head. How? There... are two of them? When his body was found, Brent's face was still twisted in an unpleasant look of confusion, with a slight twitch toward a scream.