xenomorph (Patreon)

As the faceplate of his helmet shattered, Campbell knew he'd have to tell the higher-ups at Weyland-Yutani that his attempts to communicate with the specimen had been a failure.

It wasn't news to him; after his first observation with the hulking thing, he put away the sign language flashcards and prime number charts. After months of getting closer and closer to the specimen, the only datapoint the xenobiologist had been able to confirm with absolute clarity was that 561-B wanted to jump his bone, and was getting increasingly aggressive in its efforts to do so. Recently the xenomorph had almost destroyed the foot-thick observation glass, licking and lewdly grinding its long, mean-looking cock into the window.

 He couldn't get the image out of his head.

As the weeks went by, he'd catch himself figuring out scenarios--worst-case, nightmare scenarios--where the local power system failed, and all the observation cams were knocked out, and the safety gates were unlocked... man would that be bad news. One night, weeks before, he patiently waited until Conway and Rossi clocked out for the night and typed a few quick codes into the central power system.

One suspicious power outage later and he was pinned under the aliens bulk, a powerful mass of brute musculature that felt like a living pile of hot, wet tires. 561-B trilled and hissed and drooled in anticipation. Campbell was so hard it almost hurt. "Easy, easy," the scientist panted. He'd have at least four or five hours before the emergency systems could come back on, he made sure of that.