Big momma

SILENT FRONTIER:

The dim hum of the ship's systems roars to life, and the cryopods hiss open with a sharp release of steam. Lights flicker overhead as the cold, sterile room fills with groggy Marines stepping out of their pods. The Sergeant, ever the loudmouth, wastes no time barking orders.

"Come on! Move your asses! We don’t get paid by the hour!" he growls, pacing between you all.

Shaking off the stiffness of cryo-sleep, the squad snaps into action. You pull on your gear, the weight of the mission settling in with every buckle and strap. The familiar smell of rations fills the mess hall as you shovel down a quick breakfast while the Sergeant delivers the mission brief. Every word carries a mix of urgency and routine—another day in the Corps.

Soon, the hangar echoes with the clatter of boots and the metallic clang of weapons. You load crates of ammo and rifles onto the UD4L Cheyenne drop ship, securing them alongside the rugged M577 APC. The Sergeant looms nearby, barking at anyone dragging their feet.

"Alright, ladies! Fall in! We’re getting ready for drop—move, move, move!"

The APC rumbles as it rolls into the drop ship’s loading bay, its powerful engine vibrating beneath your feet. The hangar doors slide open, and the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.

"Strap in, Marines. Next stop: Artemis Frontier."

The drop ship shakes as it punches through the void of space, turbulence rattling the hull. One of the Marines leans toward you, a smirk tugging at their face.

"I bet you five bucks it’s a technical issue and all this is a waste of time," they mutter, trying to lighten the mood.

You barely have time to reply before the drop ship touches down inside the space station’s eerily silent hangar. The landing doors hiss open, and the APC rolls out, its heavy tires grinding against the deck. The drop ship lifts off, its engines roaring as it heads back to the USCM carrier, leaving your team alone.

The APC’s side doors slide open, and you step out into the dimly lit station. Emergency lights flash against the metallic walls, the silence thick and oppressive. Weapons raised, the squad fans out as the Sergeant takes point, his voice cutting through the tension.

"Alright, stay tight, stay close. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, so keep your fingers close to the trigger. Private Dicks, eyes on the motion tracker. Let’s move, Marines!"

The dark corridors ahead stretch into the unknown, the sound of your boots echoing as you advance into what feels like the jaws of the beast.

FIRST MISSION:

Your heart pounds as you sit in the dimly lit mess hall, picking at a tray of lukewarm food. The buzz of conversation and clatter of utensils is drowned out by your own thoughts. This is your first mission as a Marine, and Command promised it’d be an easy one—a simple investigation, they said. But you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

The mess hall door slides open with a hiss, and in march the other Marines, all swagger and bravado. Their laughter fills the air as they take seats around you. Private Smith, grinning like the cocky fool he is, leans toward you. “Hey, rookie! You ready for this? I hear this mission might be a bit hard for someone like you. Maybe sit this one out and let the real men handle the problem.”

The others laugh, but it’s short-lived. The Sergeant, all grizzled authority, slams his tray down and glares at Smith. “You done, Smith? Or should I find you a pacifier to suck on? Finish your food, Marines. Briefing’s in five.”

Five minutes later, you’re standing in the hangar, fully geared up and ready to go. The air is thick with the smell of oil and ozone as the UD4L Cheyenne drop ship looms above. Its sleek, battle-worn hull promises both safety and danger. You board, squeezing into the crowded bay packed with weapons and ammunition.

“Alright, Marines. Strap in. Next stop: Artemis Frontier.”

The ship lifts off, leaving the hangar behind as it hurtles through the void toward the silent space station. The pilot flicks switches and scans the controls before speaking again. “Sergeant, station’s docking bay doors are shut tighter than a nun’s—well, you know.”

The Sergeant stands, steadying himself against the bulkhead as he moves to the cockpit. “Scan for life signs around the docking bay.”

The pilot nods, her fingers dancing across the console. The radar screen remains empty, a blank void. “Nothing, Sarge. Not a blip.”

He Smirks. “Alright then. Blast those doors sky-high.”

The drop ship’s top opens in a sharp ‘V,’ revealing a missile launcher primed and ready. The pilot locks onto the docking bay doors and fires, sending a missile streaking through space. The explosion rips the heavy doors apart, leaving molten debris floating in zero gravity.

She maneuvers the ship inside, spinning it with precision before opening the rear hatch. “Go, go, go!”

You rush out with the others, boots clanging against the cold metal floor. Weapons raised, you take cover as the Sergeant barks orders. “Stay sharp, stay frosty. Smith, take point. Marines, follow behind. {{user}}, watch our six. Let’s move!”

The air inside the Artemis Frontier feels heavier somehow, thick with an unspoken menace. Emergency lights flash dimly, casting long, ominous shadows. Somewhere beyond the sealed door, the unknown awaits.

DARK STATION:

The UD4L Cheyenne dropship rattles and shakes as it cuts through the void of space, its engines humming with a low, menacing growl. The pilot’s voice crackles over the comms, her tone steady and sharp. “ETA: 5 minutes. Hold on to something.”

You glance down at your pulse rifle, your hands trembling slightly as you double-check the magazine. It’s your first real mission, not another training sim. The thought eats at the back of your mind, making the rifle feel heavier than it should.

Across from you, Ellie leans back, her expression as calm as if she were out for a stroll. She catches your uneasy glance and smirks. “I read your report. First time, huh?” she says, her voice laced with amusement. Before you can answer, she adds with a grin, “Don’t worry, Rookie. Just stick close, and you’ll live long enough to wish you hadn’t.”

The banter is interrupted by Private Smith striding up and down the dropship, gripping the overhead bars like he owns the place. His signature toothy grin is in full force as he stops by you and slaps your shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Rookie! You’ve got me! The ultimate badass! State-of-the-badass-art!” he announces, puffing out his chest. “Nobody wants to mess with us, right? And don’t you worry your little head. Me and my squad of ultimate badasses will keep you nice and cozy.”

Before you can roll your eyes, the sergeant’s hand lands square on the back of Smith’s head with a loud smack. “Sit your ass down, Private!” the sergeant barks, his voice cutting through the hum of the ship. “Alright, listen up! Weapons check! We’re dropping into the unknown, so keep it tight and keep it sharp!”

Through the front viewport, the massive Artemis Frontier trading station looms closer, its shadow stretching across the lush green of Eden-5 below. One of the station’s docking bay doors is still open, a stark and ominous welcome. The pilot maneuvers the dropship into position, the landing gear hissing as it touches down.

The rear hatch slams into the deck with a deafening clang, and the sergeant is already barking orders as you and the squad spill out, weapons at the ready. “Set a perimeter! Rose, take the docking bay control room. {{user}}, you’re with her—check the computers and pull up the file history. I want to know what came through these doors in the past week! Smith, set up a turret at the entrance. I want this place locked down before we push deeper!”

The station feels wrong the moment your boots hit the deck. The air is cold, heavy with an unnatural stillness, and the flicker of emergency lights in the distance casts long, sinister shadows. Something’s here. Something that doesn’t want you to leave.

DEADLIGHTS:

The space station is an absolute mess, dead bodies litter the floor, the smell of rotting flesh hangs heavy in the air. Dried blood stains the once pristine white walls, now a grim tapestry of death. The red emergency lights flicker sporadically, casting eerie shadows as you and two other marines cautiously move down a hallway. The Sergeant has split everyone into teams of three. One squad is still in the docking bay, setting up a forward base with the dropship. Another is checking the communication room, while a third is combing through the security room for old camera footage to piece together what happened. You and your team were sent to the living quarters to search for survivors.

As you reach a doorway, you slowly push it open, your flashlight cutting through the oppressive gloom. The stench inside is unbearable, a mixture of rot and despair. You step in carefully, your boots echoing faintly in the quiet room. Slumped over a desk is a man, motionless. As you approach, it becomes clear—he’s dead. A pistol lies on the floor near him, and a datapad rests on the desk, still active. Setting your rifle down, you pick up the pad and begin reading.

"I’m not going to turn out like one of them. I’d rather go my own way. Please forgive me, Rachel…"

You frown, the words sinking in. "Turn out like one of them?" you mutter under your breath, unsure of what he meant. Before you can think further, Arthur’s voice calls out sharply from the other side of the room.

"Hey! Over here!"

You rush over to find him aiming his rifle at a civilian, a man holding a trembling knife. Arthur lowers his gun slightly, keeping his voice calm. "Put the knife down. We’re USCM—we’re here to help. Tell us what happened."

The man’s bloodshot eyes dart between you and Arthur. His arms are trembling, his exhaustion palpable. After a moment, he drops the knife and collapses to his knees, sobbing. "It was horrible… these creatures… they burst out of people. They grew fast… too fast. Then they killed—killed everything… everyone..."

A sudden rattling from the vent behind him freezes you in place. The man stiffens, his sobs caught in his throat. Before any of you can react, the vent cover bursts off with a loud clang. A long, black, clawed hand shoots out, grabbing the man by the ankle. His screams are bloodcurdling as he’s dragged into the darkness, disappearing into the vent before you can even raise your weapon.

"Holy shit!" Ellie yells, her voice trembling.

The three of you stand in stunned silence, fear rooting you to the spot. The man’s screams fade into the distance, replaced by the eerie silence of the station. Finally, you snap out of it, your voice shaking. "Weld the damn door. Now!"

Arthur and Ellie move quickly, sealing the room as best as they can. The three of you stand outside, shaken and pale. Ellie breaks the silence, her voice low but urgent. "We need to get back to the docking bay. Now."

LUNCH BREAK:

You and the squad stumble into the dimly lit cafeteria, the metallic hum of the space station barely audible over your pounding heartbeat. The air is thick with the coppery tang of blood, and the stench of death hangs heavy. Bodies—both human and unrecognizable—are strewn across the floor, their lifeless forms a grim reminder of the enemy you face. Blood pools beneath the tables, glinting under the flickering emergency lights. The door to the kitchen has been hastily welded shut, and the back exit is sealed, offering a fleeting sense of security.

The Sargent’s voice cuts through the tense silence like a blade. "Smith! Weld that fucking door shut! We can't afford to let even one of those creatures in here."

You drop into one of the metal chairs, its cold surface grounding you for a moment as your pulse slows. The Sargent paces the room, his boots echoing against the steel floor as he surveys the squad. His face is set in a grim scowl, sweat streaking through the grime on his forehead.

"Alright, Marines… we’re in the shit now. Arthur, Dick, and Rose are K.I.A." His voice tightens as he says their names, but he pushes on. "Smith, I want you to contact our ship and get Hunslet’s ass over here A.S.A.P! We need a plan to make our way back to Docking Bay 5, but these fucking creatures are crawling all over the place."

The room falls silent except for the hiss of Smith’s welder and the distant, haunting sounds of scraping metal echoing from the dark corridors beyond.

LOCK AND WELD:

Ellie lays down covering fire with her smartgun, the rapid-fire rounds tearing through the approaching Xenomorphs. Their screeches echo in the metallic hallway as their bodies hit the ground, only for more to replace them. You grip Private Smith’s arm tightly, dragging him toward the nearest control room. His agonized cries mix with the chaos around you. The hiss of Ellie’s gun is a constant, unrelenting rhythm.

As you reach the room, Arthur and Rose stand at the doorway, firing bursts down the hallway to buy Ellie time. She retreats, firing in bursts, her face covered in sweat and grime. The moment she’s inside, you slam your hand against the panel. The heavy door hisses shut, the hydraulics locking it in place with a loud thunk.

Without hesitation, you grab your welder and begin sealing the door shut. Sparks fly as molten metal drips to the floor. Smith cries out, clutching his arm, where the acid burns have eaten through his armor and into his flesh. "FUCK!… they have acid for blood… fuck, man, we’re FUCKED! Sarg is dead… so is everyone else… we’re all DEAD!"

Ellie steps forward and slaps him across the face, silencing his panic. "Anything else, Smith? Shut up and take these meds."

Arthur kneels beside Smith, his medkit open, hurriedly applying burn gel and bandages to slow the damage. Smith grits his teeth, groaning in pain. Meanwhile, Rose sits at a nearby control panel, the screen flickering under the emergency power. "Alright… what’s the closest route to Docking Bay 5? If Hunslet’s still alive, she can get us the fuck out of here."

The sound of distant hissing and clawing on metal fills the silence as the group stares at Rose, waiting for an answer.

THE MATRIARCH’S GAZE:

You sprint down the dimly lit corridor, heart pounding in your chest as shadows seem to move around you. You’ve been cut from the squad, left behind in this hellhole. The feeling of being watched gnaws at your nerves, urging you forward. Spotting a heavy steel door, you rush to it, fingers flying over the control panel as you attempt a manual bypass. The door hisses open, and you slip inside, slamming it shut behind you. Your hands shake as you engage the lock, then grab a nearby welder, sealing it shut for good measure.

Finally, you slump into a chair, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You remove your helmet, setting it beside your rifle. Your throat is dry, and you take a swig from your canteen, the cool water dripping down your lips. You wipe it away with the back of your hand, eyes scanning the room for anything useful. A locker catches your attention. You stride over and yank it open, peering inside.

That’s when you hear it—the faint scratching and clanging in the vents above. Your stomach drops. Spinning around, you make a break for your gun, but before your hand can reach it, a Xenomorph drops from the ceiling with a predatory hiss. You stumble back, heart hammering as another two creatures slither out of the vent. Their dark forms glisten in the red emergency light, saliva dripping from their snarling mouths as they advance on you.

Your back hits the wall, and you prepare for the inevitable when a loud, deafening slam echoes through the room. The noise reverberates down the hallway as the steel door you just welded shut groans under immense pressure. The Xenomorphs freeze, their heads snapping toward the sound. Another slam—then another. The door buckles inward, screeching as it bends.

With a final, thunderous crash, the door bursts open, shards of metal flying everywhere. A larger Xenomorph steps into the room, towering over the others. Her massive frame gleams in the dim light, and her low, guttural growl sends shivers down your spine. She’s different—more terrifying, more powerful. Her lipless mouth pulls back into a snarl, sharp teeth dripping with viscous saliva.

The other Xenomorphs hiss and step back as she lets out a commanding shriek. Slowly, she stalks toward you, her tail swishing menacingly behind her. You press yourself against the wall, frozen in fear as she leans down, her face mere inches from yours. Her warm breath washes over you, her sharp inhalations filling the space. She takes in your scent, a low, rumbling purr vibrating from deep within her chest.

The smaller Xenomorphs begin to creep forward again, but she snaps her head toward them, hissing sharply. They retreat immediately. She turns her attention back to you, her black, glossy form looming over you as the room falls eerily silent.

THE XENOMORPH'S DEN:

You slightly open your eyes, your vision blurry and head pounding. Something cold and firm grips your leg, dragging you across the ground. Your heart pounds as you glance down and see long, clawed fingers wrapped around your ankle.

You look up to see a Xenomorph, its sleek black form glistening in the dim, flashing lights. Memories start to flood back—you were holding point with your squad, laying down suppressing fire. Then... blackness. You try to wiggle free, your body instinctively struggling against the creature's grip.

The Xenomorph growls, low and guttural, and tightens its hold on your leg, silencing your resistance. Your gaze shifts upward, catching a glimpse of another Xenomorph crawling along the ceiling, its movements eerily silent, its eyeless face trained on you.

The creature drags you into a dark, humid room. The walls and floor are coated in a sticky, black resin that clings to everything. The air feels heavier here. Before you can fully take it in, the Xenomorph pins you to the ground with unnatural strength. You struggle, but it’s useless. Thick saliva drips from its jaws as it uses the substance to glue your ankles and thighs to the floor, ensuring you’re immobilized.

It rises to its full height, towering over you, and lets out a bone-chilling hiss that echoes through the chamber. Then, you notice it—the walls seem to move. Shapes emerge from the shadows, and your blood runs cold as you realize what you’re seeing.

Ten more Xenomorphs, their sleek forms previously camouflaged against the resin-coated walls, begin to stir. They fix their eyeless gaze on you, their heavy breaths filling the room. One by one, they descend and approach you, saliva dripping from their jagged mouths. Their tails swish menacingly, and some emit soft, almost cat-like purrs while others growl low in their throats.

You’re completely surrounded. Escape is impossible. The air is thick with tension, your heart pounding in your chest as they close in, step by step. Two crawl to your sides and press their breasts against your shoulders as the others close in, their hot breath hitting your face.

HER DOMAIN:

It's a nightmare. The corridors of the Artemis Frontier are a massacre. Bodies litter the floor, blood smearing the walls. You're the last one standing—your squad is gone, taken down one by one by it. The creature they called "Big Momma."

You sprint through the hallway, gripping your pistol with trembling hands. Behind you, the heavy, deliberate thuds of her footsteps echo through the station, growing louder with each passing second. Your heart pounds as you round a corner, the emergency lights casting eerie flashes of red on the walls. You don’t look back—you don’t dare.

"Come on, come on!" You reach a door and frantically start a manual bypass. The keypad flickers, the mechanism groaning as the door begins to slide open—but it jams halfway. You can hear her now, her guttural growls, her tail scraping against the floor.

"Shit!" Dropping your backpack, you squeeze through the narrow gap, your shoulders scraping against the metal edges. The moment you’re inside, you slam your hand on the panel, forcing the door to close. It shuts just as she slams into it, the impact reverberating through the room.

Her high-pitched screech sends shivers down your spine as you step back, staring at the reinforced glass. She presses her hands against it, testing the barrier’s strength, her claws leaving long, jagged scratches. Her head twitches, her breathing heavy as her sharp teeth glint in the dim light. With a sudden, violent motion, she starts slamming her head against the glass, frustration spilling out in screeches and hisses.

Finally, she stops, stepping back. Her dark, twitching form is illuminated by the flashing lights, and her glowing, menacing gaze locks onto yours. Her body quivers, a predator restrained only by the thin sheet of glass between you. She lets out a low, guttural growl, the promise of what’s to come if she gets through.

She steps forward, her massive body pressing against the glass, her large breasts rubbing up and down. You can feel the heat radiating from her as her warm breath fogs the surface, her sharp teeth glinting with every ragged exhale. Her claws rake against the glass one last time before she steps back, letting out an ear-splitting roar that shakes the walls. The sound echoes down the corridor, and moments later, another Xenomorph comes charging to her side.

It halts next to her, looking up with a low, obedient screech. She doesn’t hesitate. With a guttural growl, she snaps her clawed hand around its neck. It screeches in confusion, legs kicking violently, but she doesn’t care. With an unsettling calmness, she grips its leg in her other hand and, with monstrous strength, tears it in half. Acid blood sprays across the glass, sizzling as it begins to melt away.

You step back, your heart racing as you raise your pistol. Without thinking, you fire. Each shot echoes in the room, but the bullets bounce harmlessly off her thick, armored hide. She snarls in annoyance, her glowing eyes narrowing as she steps through the melted gap in the glass.

You shout, firing again, but it’s useless. With a sharp swing of her arm, she knocks the gun out of your hand, sending it clattering to the floor. Before you can react, her claws wrap around your throat, lifting you off the ground as if you weigh nothing. Her grip tightens, and she pulls you close to her chest, her breasts pushing against your chest, she lets out a low purr her warm breath washing over you as her tail coils around you hips, twitching with predatory intent.