After the month of horror Ricardo has endured, he finally, unwillingly, rests. He dreams of his friends from the Marshal Bureau: talking, smoking, laughing, screaming, dying. He dreams of a weight pressing against his face and neck, crushing and smothering him. He dreams of Waits and the people they thought they had rescued as they were murdered right before his eyes.
He wakes with a start, exhaling a sharp hiss of whatthefuck. How could he have possibly slept? Had he passed out? He looks down, and curses again. There is an alien body, skeletal and crab-like, curled by his chair. He’s seen others like it skittering in the hallway outside. Ricardo tentatively extends a booted foot and nudges it. Dead, thank god.
He rises and flicks on his headset.
“Ripley,” he says softly, not wanting to alarm her. “Sorry for going AWOL, I… I don’t know what happened.”
Dead air. He coughs, unsuccessfully attempting to dislodge a strange sensation in his throat. He breathes deeply, trying to push away his growing panic.
“Rip?” Oh Christ, please don’t let her be dead. Please don’t let him be alone.
“Amanda?” Please, please, please.
Without warning, the floor tilts away and he is tossed backwards into his chair. He braces himself as the room begins to shake, tossing machinery off the table and causing the horrible little corpse to slide away. The emergency lights glow red and the sirens scream.
With a terrible jolt of fear, Ricardo realizes what is happening.
The station is beginning to fall.
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