Short Story: Bear Mountain Brotherhood: Ghosts of Space & Echoes of The Alpine Star

 

Short Story: Bear Mountain Brotherhood: Ghosts of Space & Echoes of The Alpine Star

By Bear J. Sleeman, Author of BEAR MOUNTAIN: THE ALPINE CRUCIBLE

Bear Mountain Brotherhood: Ghosts of Space & Echoes of The Alpine Star

The Signal

The cockpit vibrated like a live wire, the hum of the engines a constant reminder they were still alive, still hurtling through the black ocean of space. Jack Rennell leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the radar, but his mind a million miles away. Earth was a scorched memory now—a planet eaten alive by cyber-monkey jihadists and god knows what else. All that chaos, screaming metal, burning sky—and they'd barely escaped with their lives.

Now, it was just the four of them: Jack, Megumi, Paul, and Steve "Jugs," cutting through the stars like a bullet headed for Mars. Mars—red and distant, a place where they'd try to make sense of the madness they'd just crawled out of. But space had a way of laughing at your plans.

"Hey, boss," Steve’s gravelly voice crackled through the comms. "You seeing this?"

Jack blinked out of his thoughts, scanning the instruments. His gaze zeroed in on the radar—a blip, faint and irregular. It blinked slowly, like a dying heartbeat.

"Fuck," Jack muttered, leaning forward. "What the hell is that?"

Megumi swiveled from her seat, fingers already dancing across the controls. The cockpit was bathed in the sickly green glow of their HUDs, but Megumi’s eyes were sharp, cold, focused. She was always like that—calm as death before the storm hit.

“Where’s it coming from?” she asked, voice low but tense, like a spring wound too tight.

Paul’s fingers tapped rapid-fire on his tablet, tracking data streams like a man possessed. “Signal’s about twenty thousand klicks out. Doesn’t match any known ship designs in the system, and—Jesus Christ—it’s drifting. No registered trajectory.”

The silence in the cockpit thickened like a noose.

Steve’s nervous chuckle cut through the static. “You know what they say about space, right? Ain’t no such thing as coincidence.”

Jack's gut twisted. He’d heard it all before—the stories. Ships that vanished without a trace, stations going dark, strange transmissions that led to nothing but wreckage and nightmares. But this... this was different. A fucking S.O.S. in the middle of deep space?

Jack clenched his jaw. “We leave no man behind, no matter what kind of shitstorm this could turn into.” His voice was gruff, but resolute. They were soldiers—ex-Special Forces. Even out here, that code still stuck.

Megumi shot him a glance, eyebrow raised. “Are you sure about this, Jack? We don’t know what we’re heading into.”

“We never do,” Jack growled. “That’s why we’re still alive.”

Paul kept his eyes on his screen, sweat glistening under the cold cockpit light. “We going in, or what?”

“Change course,” Jack snapped. “Let’s see what the hell we’re dealing with.”

The rocket flanked left, engines roaring like some primal beast rearing its head. The S.O.S. signal pulsed louder, more insistent, like a phantom cry in the void. It was a trap—it had to be. The universe didn’t hand out lifelines, not out here.

“Goddamn no-man’s-land,” Steve muttered under his breath, the hum of his weapons console an ominous counterpoint to the tension hanging in the air.

Jack’s hands gripped the armrests of his seat like he was ready to punch space itself. His mind raced through scenarios, all of them bad. Pirates? Ghost ships? Some fucked-up space cult? Whatever it was, it was out there, waiting.

As they approached, the blip on the radar grew stronger, clearer. Megumi zoomed in on the ship—if you could even call it that. It appeared through the forward viewport, materializing from the darkness like a nightmare crawling out of a void.

“Holy fuck-balls…” Megumi’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes locked on the screen.

The structure was huge—an old, decrepit hulk that looked like something out of a twisted fever dream. It wasn’t sleek or modern. No, this thing was old—Victorian, almost. Ornate towers and spires jutted out at odd angles, twisted and warped like metal half-melted by some cosmic hellfire.

Jack’s breath hitched. “Is that... a hotel?”

Paul’s face went pale as he peered closer. “Looks like it. But who the fuck builds a hotel in the middle of space?”

The cockpit lights flickered, shadows dancing across their faces. Outside, the ship—or whatever it was—drifted, dark and silent. No running lights, no signs of life, just a cold, dead hulk floating in the void.

“That thing…” Steve’s voice trembled. “That thing looks like something straight outta The Shining.”

Megumi’s gaze was locked on the ship, her expression unreadable. “The Overlook Hotel… in space.”

Jack’s pulse quickened. The Overlook—a horror show of isolation, madness, and ghosts. And now, it felt like they were about to step inside its cosmic cousin.

"Any life signs?" Jack barked, trying to keep his nerves from fraying. This was just another mission, another problem to solve. But the cold dread creeping up his spine said otherwise.

Paul’s fingers worked feverishly over his console. “Nothing… wait.” His voice tightened. “There’s movement. Barely registering, but something’s in there.”

Megumi’s eyes flicked over to Jack. “What’s the play?”

Jack felt the weight of their gazes. This was on him. The leader. The one who had to make the call. The wrong decision could get them all killed, or worse—lost. Out here, death wasn’t always the worst outcome.

“We suit up,” Jack said, voice low but firm. “We’re going in.”

Steve let out a low groan, checking the charge on his plasma rifle. “Great. Just what I wanted—creepy-ass ghost ships in the middle of nowhere.”

Paul grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And here I was hoping for a nice, quiet trip to Mars.”

Jack stood up, strapping on his armor, the thick, matte-black plates cold against his skin. “We’ll be fine. Stick to the mission, stay frosty, and if anything moves that shouldn’t—shoot it.”

Megumi was already suiting up beside him, her face unreadable but her movements precise. She never showed fear, but Jack knew it was there. Out here, they all felt it. The void didn’t care how tough you were; it could swallow you whole and never spit you out.

They moved in sync, each of them slipping into their military-grade exosuits like they were born to wear them. The heads-up display flickered to life, flashing vital signs, ammo counts, environmental readings. The suits made them look like black phantoms, faceless and deadly, ready to rip apart anything that stood in their way.

The tension in the air was so thick, it felt like the cockpit walls were closing in. Jack could feel the weight of the unknown pressing down on him, a palpable dread that gnawed at the back of his skull. They’d fought monsters before, but this? This was different. This was something they couldn’t shoot their way out of.

Whatever was inside... was waiting.

Hotel In Space

"Look at that son of a bitch," Paul muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His wide, disbelieving eyes scanned the radar as a colossal shape materialized before them. A deathly quiet filled the cockpit. No one breathed.

Before them floated an impossible sight—an immense structure suspended in the void, like a relic of some forgotten civilization. It shouldn’t have been there, not in the endless black of space. And yet, it was. The 3D rendering flickered on their scanner, sending cold, metallic chills down the spines of everyone in the crew. It looked like a goddamn hotel, of all things.

The thing was massive, like a Victorian fever dream. Ornate spires and towers jutted out at bizarre angles, their twisted shapes warped by the absence of gravity. The structure seemed alive somehow, as though it had been pulled straight from the subconscious of someone who’d seen hell. The spires, half melted, half broken, clawed at the void.

"Jesus," Steve breathed, breaking the silence. His hand hovered nervously over his gun holster, the ever-present twitch of fear inching its way into his voice. "That's some Lovecraftian shit right there."

Megumi leaned forward, her face bathed in the dim light of the radar screen. “Is it just me, or does that thing look like it crawled out of a nightmare?”

Jack didn’t answer immediately. He was staring at the thing, eyes narrowing. His heart thudded hard in his chest, each beat like a drum in his ears. He felt something primal stirring in his gut, something he hadn’t felt since their desperate escape from Earth. That gnawing sense that they were about to step into something far worse than they were prepared for.

Steve barked a short, bitter laugh. “Great. Now we’re landing on a haunted fucking house in space.”

“No shit,” Paul muttered, his fingers still dancing nervously over the controls. “Who builds something like that out here? I mean, what the *fuck* is this place?”

Jack tore his gaze from the twisted structure and looked at his crew. They were all thinking the same thing—this was bad. Real bad. But there was no turning back now. The S.O.S. signal was like a noose around their necks. Someone, or something, had called for help. They couldn’t just drift past, even if every instinct screamed at them to run the other way.

"We’re going in,” Jack ordered, his tone a growl of finality. “Get prepped."

Jack clenched his jaw, steeling himself. “Alright. Let’s see what kind of nightmare we’re walking into.”

And with that, the rocket's descent thrusters roared, propelling them closer to the drifting behemoth. The Alpine Star loomed ahead, its shadow stretching across the infinite darkness like the specter of some cosmic horror waiting to consume them whole.

As the rocket inched closer, the details of the structure became clearer. The exterior was pockmarked with what looked like scars—blasts, dents, twisted chunks of metal torn away by forces unimaginable. Yet the ornate Victorian design was unmistakable, like a luxury liner from some lost age. They passed what could only be described as windows, though most were shattered or fogged over with centuries of space dust and grime. There were no lights, no signs of movement. Just cold, dead metal.

“We’re docking at the main hangar,” Paul announced, voice tight. “There’s enough room for us to slip in. Atmosphere’s minimal, but it’s there. Life support’s barely ticking, though. If we lose power, we’re fucked.”

Steve snorted. “We’re probably fucked already, man.”

Megumi shot him a glare. “God help us.”

The docking process was nerve-wracking, every second dragging like an eternity. The thrusters hissed and groaned as they aligned with the hangar bay entrance, the ship’s magnetic locks clamping down with a metallic thunk.

“Docking complete,” Paul said, his voice betraying the nerves they all felt. “I’ll keep the engines hot. No telling how long we’ve got before—”

The ship shook violently, cutting him off mid-sentence. Alarms blared through the cockpit.

“Shit!” Jack barked. “What the fuck was that?”

Paul’s hands flew across the controls. “I don’t know! Something’s… something’s pulling us in!”

Megumi cursed under her breath. “We’re getting dragged *inside*?”

“The docking mechanism’s gone haywire!” Paul shouted, panic creeping into his voice. “Something’s overriding our controls!”

“Cut the power!” Jack barked.

“It’s not responding!”

The ship lurched again, violently this time, as if some invisible force had gripped it by the throat and was dragging them deeper into the black belly of the Alpine Star. The docking bay doors creaked open, and they were pulled into the darkness like a fish on a line.

Jack’s heart pounded. “Brace yourselves.”

With a sickening crunch, the ship came to an abrupt halt inside the cavernous hangar, the docking clamps slamming down with a finality that echoed through their bones. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely, plunging the hangar into darkness. Only the dull glow of their suit HUDs remained.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“We’re inside,” Megumi whispered, her voice the only sound in the pitch black.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered. “Let's boogie and kick-ass.”

Jack flicked on his helmet light, the thin beam cutting through the oppressive dark. The hangar bay was massive, its high ceilings lost in the shadows. Dust hung in the air, thick and choking, undisturbed for what must have been centuries.

“Everyone stay close,” Jack ordered, his voice tight. “And don’t touch anything you don’t need to.”

They moved as one, creeping through the hangar, their footsteps echoing unnervingly. Jack’s eyes darted around, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The place reeked of abandonment, but something about it felt… wrong. Like the walls were watching. Like the air itself was waiting for them to make a mistake.

Ahead, a massive set of double doors loomed, ornate carvings decorating the metal, twisted and grotesque in the dim light.

“That must lead to the main lobby,” Paul said, his voice barely audible.

Jack took a deep breath. His stomach churned. “Let’s roll.”

The doors groaned open, revealing a vast, dimly lit hallway that stretched into the distance. The floor was covered in plush, blood-red carpet, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals glinting faintly in the weak light. The air was stale, cold, and filled with the scent of something long dead.

Steve whistled softly. “Welcome to the *Alpine Star,* boys and girls.”

Jack stepped forward, his boots sinking into the soft carpet. “Let’s hope we’re not checking in for good.”

The team moved with precision—an elite black-ops unit ready to face death head-on. Jack led the charge, his boots pushing down into the plush blood-red carpet as he led the way, his massive laser cannon at the ready. The rest followed, falling into formation, weapons drawn, eyes scanning every inch of the landscape.

Paul’s eyes were glued to his HUD. “Signal’s strong here,” he muttered, his voice tight. “We’re close to whatever sent it. But the movement... it’s erratic.”

“I don’t like this,” Steve said, voice dripping with unease. He was sweeping his rifle in slow arcs, his finger already hovering near the trigger. “This whole place feels wrong.”

Jack’s gaze locked on a set of ancient, crumbling stairs leading deeper into the bowels of the hotel. The darkness seemed alive, pulsing with unseen threats. He motioned for the team to follow. “We’re heading down.”

The descent was slow and methodical, the air thick with tension. Each step echoed unnervingly, swallowed by the cavernous, decaying halls. Every sound felt amplified, magnified in the quiet, as if the *Alpine Star* itself was listening.

Suddenly, Paul froze. “Wait.” His HUD flickered wildly. “Something’s close. Real close.”

A low hum reverberated through the air, sending shivers up their spines. Jack swung his cannon around, aiming into the shadows. His trigger finger twitched. “Stay sharp.”

From the darkness, a figure lurched into view—ragged, shambling, and human-shaped. Its skin was pale, stretched too tight over bones, and its eyes… hollow. Empty sockets, staring into oblivion. It stumbled toward them, arms outstretched, emitting a horrible, gurgling sound from its throat.

“Contact!” Steve shouted, opening fire. His plasma rifle screamed, bolts of energy slamming into the figure.

But it didn’t go down. It jerked, twitched, but kept moving.

“Shit!” Paul yelled. “It’s not stopping!”

Jack raised his cannon, the hum of the charged weapon vibrating through his arm. He squeezed the trigger, and the cannon roared to life, a blinding beam of energy lancing through the air, slamming into the figure. It disintegrated in a flash of light, leaving nothing but scorched stone.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Jesus Christ,” Megumi breathed, her voice shaky. “What the *hell* was that?”

Paul’s face was pale behind his visor. “That thing... it wasn’t alive. Not really.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “It was waiting for us.”

More figures appeared, shambling out of the dark like nightmares made flesh. Dozens of them. They moved like puppets, their joints stiff, their faces twisted into expressions of mindless agony.

“We’ve got incoming!” Steve shouted, firing wildly. Plasma rounds lit up the darkness, but the figures kept coming, relentless, unstoppable.

“Hold the line!” Jack bellowed, his cannon blasting into the horde. “Don’t let them overwhelm us!”

The team formed a tight circle, back-to-back, their weapons roaring as the creatures swarmed. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh and ozone. But the horde didn’t stop. They just kept coming, wave after wave, their empty eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

“Fall back!” Jack ordered, his voice hoarse. “We need to regroup!”

They backed toward the stairs, fighting every step of the way. The hotel seemed to close in around them, the walls pressing in, suffocating, as if the *Alpine Star* itself was alive, feeding on their fear. Jack could feel the weight of it, the oppressive, malevolent presence that lurked in every shadow.

As they reached the base of the stairs, Paul stumbled, his leg caught by one of the creatures. It pulled him down, clawing at his suit.

“Paul!” Megumi screamed, firing into the thing’s face, but more were coming, swarming over him.

Jack didn’t hesitate. He dropped his cannon and charged, ripping the creature off Paul and slamming it into the ground. With a roar, he drove his boot into its skull, shattering it like brittle glass. He hauled Paul to his feet.

“We’re not dying here,” Jack growled. “Not today.”

They scrambled up the stairs, the horde right behind them.

“Focus,” Jack growled from the front of the group, his voice low and dangerous. He gripped his cannon tightly, sweeping it across the room. “This place is a fucking hornet's nest, we need to keep moving. We’re not here for art appreciation.”

They moved in formation, their boots making soft thuds against the marble, the echoes swallowed by the oppressive silence. Megumi took point next to Jack, her eyes flicking from corner to corner, her pulse rifle steady in her hands. Her breath was slow and controlled, but her muscles were coiled, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. Paul was scanning with his tactical tablet, the soft beeping of the S.O.S signal growing louder, more insistent. Red dots flickered on their HUDs, tracking movement in the shadows—brief blips of life, there and gone, like ghosts.

“Watch your corners,” Megumi hissed, her voice barely more than a breath. “This place stinks of a trap.”

The hallways were narrow, oppressive, lined with strange metallic growths that snaked up the walls like tumors. Some pulsed faintly, a grotesque fusion of organic matter and machine, the veins of the hotel itself. It felt alive, like they were walking through the belly of some enormous, slumbering beast. Every step was an intrusion, and the walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the weight of unseen eyes.

“Beep... beep... beep...”

The pings from Paul’s scanner quickened, each one tightening the knot in Jack’s gut. Whatever sent that signal was close. Too close.

Paul held up a fist, and the group froze, crouching low, weapons hot at the ready. “Hold,” he whispered, eyes locked on the screen. His voice was barely audible. “We’re close.”

A faint metallic tapping sound echoed from overhead. Jack’s eyes darted upward, and his heart skipped a beat. The sound was coming from the HVAC vents, a rhythmic, almost methodical tapping, like claws scraping against metal.

“Something’s in the vents,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with unease, his rifle trained on the ceiling.

“I don’t like this,” Paul said, his fingers dancing across his tablet, trying to pinpoint the source. “It’s too quiet.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, his instincts screaming at him that this was wrong—*all* of it was wrong. “Eyes forward,” he ordered, his voice a harsh growl. “We clear this place first, then deal with whatever’s lurking above. Keep your heads on straight.”

They pushed deeper into the hotel, moving like predators through the twisting corridors. The metallic growths on the walls became more erratic, branching out in jagged angles like dead, gnarled tree limbs. The lights flickered intermittently, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to breathe.

Suddenly, Paul’s scanner shrieked, the signal spiking violently. He stiffened, his voice sharp. “We’ve got something—close, straight ahead.”

The hallway opened into a larger room—once a grand ballroom, but now a decaying ruin. A massive crystal chandelier lay shattered on the floor, shards of glass scattered like bones. The walls were lined with dark, heavy drapes, half-rotted and hanging in tatters. And in the center of the room, standing deathly still, was a figure.

Human-shaped. Motionless.

“What the fuck…” Steve whispered, his grip tightening on his rifle. The figure didn’t move, but it *felt* like it was watching them, its back turned, its head slightly tilted.

Jack stepped forward, his cannon raised, finger hovering near the trigger. “Identify yourself!” His voice echoed through the room, but the figure didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, like a mannequin frozen in time.

Megumi’s eyes narrowed behind her visor. “No way that’s human.”

Paul took a step closer, his scanner buzzing like mad. “It’s the source of the signal. I don’t—”

The figure’s head snapped around, a sudden, unnatural movement. Its face was pale, stretched taut over its skull, eyes wide and glassy, staring straight through them. Its mouth twitched, and a low, guttural sound escaped its throat.

“Fuck!” Steve shouted, opening fire. Plasma bolts tore through the air, slamming into the figure.

It didn’t even flinch.

Jack fired his cannon, the blast obliterating the space where the figure stood. The impact sent shockwaves through the room, shattering the windows, ripping the drapes from the walls. But as the dust settled, the figure was gone.

“Where the hell did it go?” Megumi hissed, her pulse racing, scanning the room with wild eyes.

“Up,” Jack growled, his voice dripping with fury. “It’s in the goddamn vents.”

A metallic screech echoed from above, the sound of something large and fast moving through the ducts. The walls groaned, and the floor vibrated under their feet.

“Fall back!” Jack barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We’ve stirred up the hive. Time to move!”

The team bolted back down the hallway, the walls seeming to close in around them. The sound of metal on metal echoed from every direction, as if the hotel itself was collapsing in on them.

Suddenly, something dropped from the ceiling—one of the creatures from the vents. It landed in front of them with a sickening crunch, its body twisted and malformed, half-machine, half-flesh, its face a grotesque parody of human features, eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

“Light it up!” Jack roared.

Megumi and Paul opened fire, their plasma rounds ripping through the creature’s body, but more were coming, dropping from the ceiling, crawling out of the walls.

“This place is a goddamn nest!” Steve shouted, blasting one of the creatures in the head, its skull exploding in a spray of sparks and blood.

“We’re getting out of here,” Jack growled, his voice a low rumble. “Now.”

As the team fought their way back toward the exit, the hotel seemed to shift around them, the walls warping, the floor buckling under their feet. The *Alpine Star* was alive, and it wasn’t letting them go without a fight.

Survivors

The beeping from Paul’s scanner led them to the end of a dark, narrow corridor. At the far side, a massive steel door loomed, the metal corroded with rust and something darker, something organic that looked almost like the same twisted growths lining the walls. The tapping sound behind it had grown louder, more erratic, like nails scratching from the inside. It was a warning, but they were past the point of turning back.

"Get that thing open," Jack ordered, his voice a low growl. His pulse pounded in his ears as he kept his cannon trained on the door, ready for anything that might burst through.

Paul nodded, igniting the oxy-flame torch with a hiss of gas and fire. The orange glow cast deep shadows on his face as he methodically cut through the steel, sending rivulets of molten metal dripping to the floor. The sound of melting metal was drowned out by the heavy breathing of the crew, the silence thick with tension.

Steve shifted uneasily beside him, gripping his rifle tight. "Why the hell would anyone lock themselves in a place like this?"

“Why would anyone build a goddamn hotel in the middle of space?” Megumi shot back, her tone razor-sharp. "Keep your eye's on the prize and your head in the game bro."

With a final spark and the scrape of metal, the door gave way. Jack wasted no time. He kicked it in, the steel slab falling with a crash that echoed down the corridor like a death knell.

Inside, the stench hit them first—sweat, fear, and something rank, festering in the corners. The room was dim, lit only by a flickering, cracked light panel on the ceiling. Six figures huddled in the shadows, their eyes wide and hollow.

They weren’t alone.

"’Bout damn time someone showed up," a grizzled voice boomed from the back of the room. A figure stepped forward, moving like a ghost out of the shadows. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with long, greasy hair that spilled over his shoulders, a leather jacket hanging off him like armor. He looked like the ghost of a ‘60s biker, the spirit of Dennis Hopper resurrected in space.

Behind him, a hulking brute towered over the others, shirtless but for a bandolier strapped across his chest, a massive machete clenched in his fist. He looked like a fever dream of *Machete*, with a bandana tied tight around his forehead and eyes that burned with fury.

Next to him, a squat, cigar-chewing cop, with a gut straining his shirt, leaned against the wall. His NYPD badge gleamed faintly in the low light, but the only thing keeping his teeth clenched tighter than the cigar was the clear sight of danger. "You boys late for the party?" he spat, a plume of smoke curling from his mouth.

“Christ,” Steve muttered under his breath. “What kind of freak show is this?”

Standing a bit apart from the others, a woman with a hard, no-nonsense demeanor surveyed them coolly. She had a vibe that sent Jack back to the battles of Earth, back to soldiers who’d seen too much and weren’t interested in playing games. She was all business, her eyes scanning them with the precision of a tactical drone. Jack pegged her immediately—*she’d survive this place*. She reminded him of Ripley, that same ice-cold resolve that could cut through steel.

And then there was the couple. A woman, tall, wiry, with wild eyes that gleamed in the dim light, stood barefoot, dancing in place like she was moving to a beat only she could hear. Beside her, a man with a sadistic grin flicked a switchblade between his fingers, the blade catching the light with each lazy spin. His eyes tracked them like they were prey, lips curled in a cruel smile.

Finally, in the back, Richie. A greasy little weasel of a man, his body language screamed opportunist. He slunk forward, his eyes darting between the crew, sizing them up, calculating angles. Jack pegged him for a rat, the kind of guy who’d sell out his own mother if it meant getting off this nightmare alive.

“Names can wait,” Jack growled, his tone brooking no argument. He stepped into the room, his cannon aimed low but ready to fire at the slightest provocation. “We’re getting out of here, *now*. Gear up. We’re not staying another second in this hellhole.”

“Easier said than done, chief,” the biker growled, his voice deep and rough. “In case you didn’t notice, the place is crawling with those… things.”

“Yeah?” Jack shot back, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “Well, now you’ve got us. And I don’t care if we have to blast our way through the whole damn building—we’re leaving.”

The machete-wielding brute let out a low chuckle, the sound like gravel scraping together. “Hope you got plenty of ammo, buddy. You’re gonna need it.”

The woman, the no-nonsense one, stepped forward. Her voice was steady, controlled. “What’s the plan? You better have more than just that cannon and a bad attitude.”

Jack’s eyes flicked toward Megumi, who was already pulling up schematics on her wrist display. “We find the quickest route back to the pod. Blast our way through whatever gets in the way. Stick together, no wandering off.”

The cop spat his cigar onto the ground and stomped it out. “Sounds like a suicide run.”

“Better than waiting to die in here,” Steve muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Suit yourselves," the wild-eyed woman sang, her voice lilting, unhinged. She skipped over to the man with the blade, running her fingers through his hair. "But some of us *like* it here. Maybe we'll stay, maybe we'll play..."

“*Enough*,” Jack barked, silencing the room. He turned, locking eyes with each of them. “Listen up. You want to survive? You do what I say, when I say it. We move as one. We get back to the pod, we get off this rock, and we burn this goddamn place to ash.”

A pause hung in the air, the tension like a taut wire ready to snap. The survivors exchanged glances, the hard reality of their situation sinking in.

The biker stepped forward, cracking his neck. “I’m in. Let’s get the fuck out of this freak show.”

One by one, the others nodded, grim determination settling over them. Even Richie, though his eyes gleamed with something far less noble.

“Good,” Jack said, his grip tightening on his cannon. “Then let’s move. And for the love of God, stay frosty.”

As they filed out of the room, the metallic tapping started up again, louder this time. Closer. Something was watching them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The Hunt

The air was thick with adrenaline and the acrid stench of burning metal. The group moved swiftly, retracing their steps through the labyrinthine hallways of the Alpine Star, but tension clung to them like a second skin. Every corner was a potential death trap, every shadow a doorway to hell.

Jack led the way, cannon at the ready, eyes darting from his HUD to the darkened vents overhead. The metallic tapping that had haunted them earlier was now relentless, a steady rhythm that gnawed at their nerves like the pulse of a predator closing in. From behind, alien screams—high-pitched and guttural—ripped through the oppressive silence, reverberating off the walls.

“Shit, they’re getting closer!” Steve muttered, sweat pouring down his face. His fingers twitched over the plasma rifle, the weight of it suddenly too heavy in his hands.

Just as he finished speaking, the hiss came. It was a sound that cut straight through to the bone—cold, mechanical, and alive.

A split-second later, the vent covers overhead burst open, torn apart like they were made of paper. *Metal shrieked as the monsters came through*. The air was instantly filled with movement, the slick, fast shadows of creatures not meant for this world. Their bodies were elongated, skeletal, with black, glistening exoskeletons that shimmered in the dim light. Alien horrors, sharp-toothed nightmares from the dark reaches of space, poured from the ceiling vents like a demonic rain.

“*CONTACT!*” Jack roared, his voice a booming command over the chaos.

The first wave hit hard. Facehuggers, writhing, spider-like creatures with sickly yellow bodies, launched from the walls. They moved like missiles, aiming for the survivors with predatory accuracy.

Paul’s laser rifle cut through the air, *hissing* with energy as two of the creatures exploded in mid-air. But it was barely enough. More came, faster. One latched onto Richie, the greasy little man, its legs tightening around his face as he screamed, his voice muffled in agony. The creature’s tail wrapped around his throat, cutting off his breath.

“FUCK!” Steve screamed as he unleashed a barrage of plasma rounds into the swarm, turning another facehugger into a splatter of sizzling goo on the floor. But for every one they blasted, more poured out of the walls, scrambling toward them with inhuman speed.

And then, from the shadows, the real nightmares appeared.

Full-grown Xenomorphs—seven feet of pure, lethal killing machines. Their elongated heads, dripping with slime, turned toward the group. Their skeletal bodies moved with a predatory grace, razor-sharp claws clicking against the metal floors as they closed in, mouths agape, inner jaws snapping hungrily.

“They’re all around us!” Megumi’s voice cut through the bedlam as her rifle blazed, lighting up the darkened corridor. One of the creatures leapt out of the darkness toward her, all sinew and death, but her shots slammed into its chest, sending it skidding across the floor with a blood-curdling screech.

But the Xenomorphs weren’t finished.

One of the monsters crashed into the Bandido—a towering brute of a man, his machete swinging in wide arcs. The creature was fast, too fast. It knocked him to the ground with a snarl, and the Bandido hacked desperately at its limbs, severing them in a spray of acidic blood. The liquid splattered across his chest and neck, sizzling through his flesh with horrifying speed. He screamed, a guttural, agonized wail as his skin peeled away in charred chunks.

“*Fall back!*” Jack bellowed, blasting another Xenomorph in the head with his cannon, its skull erupting like a shattered melon. Acid blood sprayed across the walls, sizzling with each droplet.

The Survivor twisted couple—Baby and Otis—moved like animals in the slaughterhouse, slashing at anything that moved. Otis buried his knife into the throat of a facehugger, laughing maniacally as it wriggled and died. Baby danced through the carnage, her eyes wide with ecstatic glee as she licked blood from her lips, spinning in place as the creatures closed in.

“Freaks,” Steve muttered, blasting away with wild abandon.

The cop, Dirty Harry, stood his ground, planting his feet as he took aim with his .44 Magnum. Each shot was methodical, precise, and brutal, the recoil jerking his arm as alien heads exploded with each thunderous crack of his weapon. “You want some of this, you alien fucks?” he snarled through clenched teeth, firing off round after round.

Beside him, the Ripley-like woman fought with cold precision, her rifle blazing as she tore through the ranks of the oncoming Xenomorphs. Her expression was calm, controlled, as if she’d been preparing for this moment her entire life. There was no panic in her eyes—only survival.

But the tide of aliens was relentless. More poured from the walls, from the ceiling, their shrieks mingling with the sound of human screams. A facehugger latched onto Paul’s leg, and he let out a strangled cry as its claws dug deep into his flesh. He staggered, firing blindly into the crowd as his HUD flashed red with warning signs.

“We’re getting overrun!” Steve shouted, his voice raw with panic as he struggled to keep the creatures at bay. “We can’t hold them!”

Jack's mind raced. They were being pressed on all sides, pinned in by an overwhelming swarm. His gaze locked onto the dim glow of the elevator shaft in the distance, a potential way out. But it was still so far, through the gauntlet of death.

“*Regroup at the elevator shaft!*” Jack barked, his voice cutting through the frenzy. He fired a round into the closest Xenomorph, sending it hurtling back in a spray of gore.

The survivors moved as one, falling back, firing into the advancing horde as they retreated toward the elevator. Alien shrieks echoed louder, the sound twisting through the corridors like the wail of death itself.

But they couldn’t afford to stop. Not here. Not with the hunt beginning in earnest.

This was the fight for their lives.

Final Stand

The elevator door slammed shut behind them with a metallic *clang*. Paul immediately set to work, sparks flying as he welded the door in place. The pounding on the other side grew louder—relentless, the screeching claws of Xenomorphs raking against the steel like nails on bone.

“Get it sealed,” Jack snarled, his voice ragged, his face slick with sweat. He could hear the creatures behind the door, hissing, growling, their impatience palpable. His cannon hung low in his hands, its weight dragging at his arms after hours of non-stop combat, but there was no rest. Not now. Not here.

“Almost there… give me a sec…” Paul’s voice was shaky, his fingers twitching as he fused the last corner of the door. The weld held, but it wouldn’t hold long. He stepped back, breathing hard, staring at the door as if expecting it to burst open any second. “That’ll slow ’em down,” he muttered. “But it won’t stop them.”

The dim light in the elevator shaft flickered, casting long, eerie shadows across the room. The survivors were battered and bloodied, their suits torn, streaked with alien blood, and their faces pale with exhaustion. Richie huddled in the corner, his face pale and clammy, muttering to himself like a broken doll. The wild-eyed couple, Baby and Otis, were gone—taken down in a blaze of violent insanity.

“They’re not stopping, are they?” Paul’s voice was barely a whisper as he reloaded his weapon, his eyes haunted by the things he’d seen. His hands trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead.

“No,” Jack growled, hefting the cannon over his shoulder. “They don’t stop. Not until we’re dead.” His eyes scanned the hallway, the grim realization dawning. They were low on ammo. The wounded and dead littered the floor behind them. Acid blood ate through metal like it was butter, leaving the walls scorched and the air acrid with smoke.

“Then we make our stand,” Megumi said. She stood tall, her rifle clutched in her hands, the last clip loaded. She looked to Jack, her eyes fierce. “It’s them or us.”

Jack nodded. There was no time for fear, no time for hesitation. The pounding at the door intensified, the shrieking growing louder, more desperate.

“Get ready!” Jack roared, moving to the center of the room. “We fight, or we die!” His voice cut through the suffocating tension, reigniting the flickering resolve in their exhausted bones.

The pounding stopped.

A deafening silence filled the room, the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Richie whimpered in the corner, his hands clutched around his knees, eyes darting around the room in frantic paranoia. “We’re dead… we’re dead… they’re gonna eat us alive…”

Steve, gripping his plasma rifle, turned to Jack. “What’s the plan, boss? They’ll tear through that door any second.”

Jack tightened his grip on the cannon. “We hold this corridor. Last man standing.” His gaze flicked over to Richie, then back to the team. “Stay focused. No more fear. We end this.”

And then the door exploded.

The welding snapped with a horrifying screech of metal, sending sparks showering across the room. The first Xenomorph tore through, its sleek body gleaming with alien ferocity. Its jaws unhinged with a sickening *click* as it lunged toward them.

“OPEN FIRE!” Jack bellowed.

The room erupted into chaos. Plasma rounds, laser fire, and gunpowder blasts filled the air. Jack’s cannon roared, sending the first Xenomorph flying backward, its head blown clean off. But more poured through the breach, a black wave of teeth, claws, and hatred. Their acid blood sprayed across the floor as they were cut down, but for every one that fell, three more took its place.

Paul screamed as a facehugger latched onto his leg, its spindly legs coiling around his thigh like a vice. He slammed it into the ground, stomping it to death with frantic kicks, but the acid splashed across his calf, burning through his suit, flesh sizzling. He gritted his teeth against the pain, firing wildly at the oncoming horde.

“MOTHERFUCKERS!” Steve screamed as he unloaded round after round, plasma bolts lighting up the dim corridor. His eyes were wild, sweat dripping into his eyes. A Xenomorph tackled him, its claws slicing into his chest. He twisted his plasma rifle around, jamming the barrel into its mouth, pulling the trigger. The creature’s head exploded, showering him in gore.

“Behind you!” Megumi shouted, her voice cutting through the din. She spun on her heel, blasting two Xenomorphs in rapid succession, their bodies crumpling to the floor. Another creature lunged at her from the side, its claws ripping through her shoulder. She screamed, but fired back, tearing its head apart in a spray of acid and black ichor.

The tide was endless. Bodies piled up at their feet—both human and alien—but still, the Xenomorphs came, faster, more frenzied, as if the scent of blood had driven them mad.

“Jack!” Paul screamed, his rifle empty, his hands desperately trying to reload as a Xenomorph barreled toward him. Its mouth opened wide, the inner jaws snapping, ready to strike.

*BOOM*—Jack’s cannon blew its body in half.

“FALL BACK!” Jack roared. But there was nowhere left to go.

The survivors were cornered, backs pressed against the elevator shaft. Megumi slumped against the wall, her chest heaving, blood dripping from her wounds. Steve’s arms shook, the weight of the rifle too much for his exhausted muscles. Paul was down to his last clip.

And then, silence.

The last Xenomorph crumpled to the floor, its body sizzling in a pool of its own acid blood. The corridor was a graveyard—bodies littered everywhere, a nauseating stench filling the air. Human, alien—it didn’t matter anymore. Death had taken its toll.

Jack stood in the middle of the carnage, his cannon still smoking. His chest heaved, blood oozing from a deep gash on his arm, but he was still standing. Barely.

The hotel was silent once again. No more pounding. No more screams. Just the soft, eerie hum of the Alpine Star, floating in the void.

They were alive.

For now.

Jack lowered his weapon, his gaze sweeping over the corridor, taking in the dead, the blood, the destruction. “Let’s get the hell off this rock,” he muttered.

Megumi nodded, pulling herself to her feet, her face grim. “If we can make it.”

Paul, cradling his burnt leg, grimaced. “If there’s anything left to make it in.”

Steve chuckled darkly, wiping alien blood from his face. “Just another day in paradise, huh?”

Jack shook his head, eyes dark. “Paradise died a long time ago.”
Cold Escape

The team boarded the lunar pod, as its thrusters roared to life, pushing them away from the Alpine Star Hotel with a shuddering thrust. Inside, Jack, Megumi, Paul, and Steve “Jugs” were a mess of blood, sweat, and frayed nerves. Alongside them, the rescued survivors were just as battered, each one more unstable than the next.

Dennis Hopper, the leather-clad biker with wild eyes, eyed the pod’s cramped interior with a mix of distrust and fatigue. He gripped a makeshift weapon—a wrench, slick with the blood of fallen enemies. “Never thought I’d end up here,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But at least we’re out of that hellhole.”

The Bandido, a hulking figure with a bandolier and a grim expression, adjusted his machete, its blade coated in alien gore. “We need to move. Get this piece of junk outta here, pronto.”

Dirty Harry, the grizzled NY cop, sat near the airlock, his .44 Magnum still warm from the earlier fight. He lit a cigar and puffed it with a weary sigh. “I don’t know about you folks, but I’m getting real tired of this horror show. Let’s get the hell out of here and regroup.”

The Ripley-like woman, with her face as composed as ever, nodded to Megumi. “You’re the pilot. Just get us to the mothership, and let’s pray we don’t run into any more surprises.”

Baby and Otis, the sadistic couple, huddled together, their eyes wild and expressions manic. Baby’s grin was unsettling, while Otis’s fingers twitched toward his blade. Their unpredictability made the air tense.

Jack, barely able to stand, leaned against the console. “Everyone ready? We’re getting out of here.”

Megumi’s fingers flew over the controls as the pod accelerated away from the Alpine Star, the twisted Victorian structure shrinking into the void. The tension in the pod was palpable, a mix of relief and dread as they finally distanced themselves from the nightmare. The stars outside stretched into streaks as they picked up speed, the dark expanse of space yawning before them.

The journey back to the mothership was brutal. The survivors slumped against the walls, some whispering prayers, others lost in their own dark thoughts. The hum of the pod was the only constant, a monotonous reminder of the peril they’d just escaped.

Jack’s eyes never left the viewport. He was a soldier haunted by his own demons, and the silence of space was almost as terrifying as the battles they’d fought. Paul, bandaged and exhausted, leaned against the wall, occasionally glancing nervously at the viewport.

Steve "Jugs" paced back and forth, his nerves frayed. “We need to keep it together. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Megumi’s voice was calm, almost too calm. “We’re heading back to the mothership. Let’s not forget—this isn’t over.”

Suddenly, the radar began to beep—slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Jack’s eyes snapped to the console. “What the hell is that?”

On the radar, a massive spacecraft appeared, its form unmistakable—a grotesque alien vessel shaped like a monstrous Jihad Monkie. The vessel was traveling at light speed, closing in on them with terrifying velocity.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Jack growled, his hands gripping the armrests tightly.

The survivors’ faces turned ashen. Dennis Hopper’s eyes widened. “We can’t outrun that thing.”

“It’s not about outrunning it,” Jack said, his voice hardening. “It’s about surviving long enough to make it to the mothership.”

“Get us there fast,” Megumi ordered, her fingers flying over the controls. The pod shuddered as it pushed toward the mothership, but the alien spacecraft was relentless.

Steve “Jugs” clutched his plasma rifle, his knuckles white. “If it comes down to it, we’ll fight. We’re not letting that thing take us without a fight.”

The pod barreled through the cold expanse of space, the Jihad Monkie ship looming larger in the viewport, a dark and malevolent force racing after them. The stars blurred into streaks as the pod accelerated, each heartbeat echoing with the impending threat.

“We’ve got to make it,” Jack muttered through gritted teeth. “No matter what.”

The vast emptiness of space stretched around them, the silence punctuated only by the beeping radar and the anxious breaths of the crew. As the mothership loomed closer, the alien ship drew nearer, an insidious shadow against the stars.

The true horror was only beginning.

STAY HARD.

by Bear J. Sleeman ©