I just sat there, trying to recover after that short but lethal fight. A seven-foot alien "gorilla" with a cloaking field and energy weapons... life definitely didn't prepare me for this.
"Shit! In my home world, you wouldn't even call this 'dangerous'!" Back there, he'd just be a guy you beat with sticks. Here? He's a nightmare.
If it wasn't for the suit, that Predator would have turned my skull into a trophy long ago. Speaking of the suit: a direct hit from his shoulder cannon left a massive dent—maybe even a crack—on the chest plate. The steel literally melted and charred in places.
And that spear... it left a nasty scratch on the mask and gauntlets. What is that thing made of to be able to scratch a titanium-nickel-chromium alloy?
I stood up and walked over to the corpse. The weapon was lying right next to it.
"I didn't even want to mess with you guys, but you attacked first—so this is on you, asshole!" I checked the System. The fight boosted my Ice Make, Intuition (twice), and both Armor skills.
I leveled up, but the mission was flagged as "Completed" without a reward yet. Does that mean I have to kill another one? Hell no! One was more than enough.
I looked at the corpse... and immediately felt sick. The sight of a scorched, blown-open throat isn't exactly appetizing. I'm glad I skipped lunch, because I'm definitely skipping dinner too.
I picked up the spear—or the Combi-stick, as the System called it. It felt heavy but balanced. I pressed a button in the center, and it retracted into a foot-long cylinder. Press again, and it's a full-length spear. Cool trophy.
I decided to loot the rest. I couldn't just "auto-loot," so I had to do it by hand. It was gross, but I walked away with: a Plasma Caster, a Smart Disc, a Whip, a Bio-mask, a Cloak, and a Wrist Computer with built-in blades and a Medicomp. Not a bad haul.
As I flew back to my temporary base, the armor picked up a new signal—from space! It wasn't aliens; it was Morse code.
A squad of Colonial Marines was being sent to help. On one hand, good news. On the other, I knew exactly where this was going.
I waited for a few hours. Two dropships descended toward the planet despite the hurricane-level storm outside. Either they have amazing tech, or they're suicidal.
I started walking toward the Primary Operations Complex (POC). The storm had forced one dropship into the mountains, while the other was hovering over a plateau.
This felt... familiar. LV-1201. Five capsules left. General Vasily Rykov. Dr. Arnaud Eisenberg. Iron Bears PMCs. Colonial Marines.
Holy shit. I'm in the world of the Aliens vs. Predator 2 game.
I needed to swap my Unity card. With only 200 mana left, magic was useless. I needed a shooter.
I checked the slots. My "Unity" with my current hero was up to 38% (probably due to the fight), and the Fusion with Tomo was at 23.4%.
I swapped the slot to Asuma Toki (Blue Archive).
Immediately, my Firearms skill jumped 21 levels and Armor Piloting jumped 13. The suit felt different—lighter, more responsive. Why didn't I use her earlier?
I dumped 6 points into Intelligence and 4 into Luck, then hopped over the outer gates of the POC.
The architecture was futuristic but tight—perfect for Xenos to maneuver vertically. The Iron Bears were doomed from the start in a layout like this.
I reached the landing pad just as a group of armed soldiers surrounded me.
"Who the hell are you?" a middle-aged man in green fatigue asked, pointing a pistol at me. Major McCain.
"Me? Just a 'test pilot' who ended up on this god-forsaken rock, just like you," I replied, hands visible.
"Are you a colonist?"
"Fortunately, I'm not a Weyland-Yutani parasite or one of the Iron Bear goons they hired for their dirty work. You can call me Michael."
I spotted a Marine with "Frosty" on his armor. Yep, definitely the right world.
"I'm not a colonist," I continued. "I assume you're here to save them?"
"That's the plan. But if you're not with them, who are you?"
"I'm a test pilot for this experimental power armor. Weyland-Yutani screwed up their attempt to 'tame' an alien species about a month ago. The Xenos broke the perimeter and flooded the place. Have you run into them yet?"
The soldiers exchanged looks.
"Anyone they didn't kill suffered a worse fate: they're incubators. Infected with facehuggers, carrying alien larvae inside them. Even if they're still breathing, they're already dead. Forget about them."
McCain looked outraged. "You want us to just leave them?"
"I'm just warning you. If you want to lose half your squad before you start listening to me, that's your call. And seriously, put your helmets on. Facehuggers don't care how tough you are."
I pointed toward the main complex. "Don't trust General Rykov or Dr. Eisenberg. They have their own agenda, and you're just a nuisance to them. If something feels off, don't turn your back on the Weyland-Yutani staff."
McCain lowered his pistol and signaled the others to do the same.
"So you're saying the only survivors are in the 'Pods'?"
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