Page 33 of Alien's Love Child

I glance at the chain supporting this section of catwalk, then at the crowd of guards below. Sometimes the best way out is down.

"Here's hoping Jesse forgives me for this mess," I mutter, taking aim at the chain's weak point.

My shot rings true, striking the chain's weakest link. Metal shrieks against metal as the catwalk lurches. Gravity takes hold, and I sprint forward, using the falling bridge's momentum to launch myself toward a stack of crates.

"Look out below!" I call out, because I'm just that kind of asshole.

The catwalk crashes down with a thunderous boom. Two guards disappear beneath the twisted metal, their screams cut short. Dust billows up, coating my throat. I roll behind the crates as bullets pepper the area where I landed.

A guard rushes my position, combat knife drawn. Amateur move. I grab his wrist, twisting until bones crack. His knife clatters to the ground.

"Thanks for the gift," I say, snatching up the blade.

He swings wildly with his other hand. I duck under the punch, driving the knife up through his ribcage. Hot blood spills over my fingers as he goes limp.

"Behind you!" another guard shouts.

I spin, using the dying man as a shield. Bullets thud into his back as I draw my own knife with my free hand. The blade whistles through the air, embedding itself in the shooter's throat. He drops his gun, hands clutching uselessly at the steel protruding from his neck.

"Seven left," I mutter, letting the dead guard slide to the floor. "Time to even these odds a bit more."

Gunfire erupts from multiple directions, forcing me back behind the crates. The warehouse echoes with shouted orders and pounding boots. They're trying to flank me, but they're disorganized. Scared. Two quick deaths will do that to green recruits.

I wipe blood from my hands onto my pants, retrieving my thrown knife from the guard's cooling body. The familiar weight settles comfortably in my palm.

"Spread out!" one of them barks. "Don't let him slip away!"

I slip between the shadows of fallen debris, tracking movement through the settling dust. Two guards break from their group, heading toward my last known position. Rookies.

"Check behind those crates," one whispers. "I'll cover you."

I slide the knife between my teeth, tasting metal. The closest guard's breath comes in sharp bursts – fear making his movements jerky, unpredictable. His partner keeps his gun trained forward, completely missing my approach from the side.

My hand clamps over the rear guard's mouth. The knife finds the soft spot under his ear, silencing any warning he might have given. I ease his body to the ground, boots scraping concrete.

"Marco?" The remaining guard turns. "Did you hear some-"

I surge forward, driving my shoulder into his chest. His gun clatters away as we hit the ground. He opens his mouth to scream. My fist connects with his throat, crushing his windpipe. He thrashes once, twice, then goes still.

"Thanks for the dance," I mutter, retrieving his weapon. Standard issue Alliance sidearm – decent enough.

The door where they took Xander looms ahead, reinforced steel with an electronic lock. Nothing military grade, but enough to slow down most people. Lucky for me, I'm not most people.

I wedge my knife into the control panel's seam, prying off the cover. The wiring inside is basic – red to blue, cross the green, and... The lock clicks open with a soft beep.

Inside, Xander huddles in the corner like a frightened rabbit. The boss lounges against a desk, oddly relaxed for someone whose men I just eliminated.

"I knew there was something off about you." Xander's voice cracks. "The way you watched me on the ship, how you always seemed to be wherever I went. Should've trusted my instincts."

"Your instincts?" I keep my stolen gun trained on the boss. "Those same instincts that told you genetic weapons were a good career move?"

"Now, now." The boss pushes off from the desk, hands raised. "Let's be civil about this. Those men out there? Useless, every last one. Couldn't even handle a single intruder properly." He starts a slow clap. "Impressive work, truly. The way you dropped that catwalk?" He motions with his fingers against his lips, making a kissing sound, and flourishes his hand in the air. "Beautiful. Never seen anything like it."

"Thanks for the performance review." My finger tightens on the trigger. "But I didn't come here for compliments."

"Of course not." He grins, still clapping. "You came for him." He jerks his head toward Xander. "And after that display, I'd say you've earned him. And more."

I let out a chuckle, moving closer to the boss, gun aimed between his eyes. "I doubt you'd like the sort of reward I have in mind."

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