bakerstreet | The Aliens Meme

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[warning] violence

The Aliens Meme

THE ALIENS MEME

People always wondered if there was intelligent life out there beyond our solar system. Well lucky us, there is. But take away the lucky part and we're left with an alien race that wants nothing more than to use our bodies as incubators for their babies. If not out right kill us. They're intelligent and adapt to situations to overcome what is thrown at them and will do everything to find you. Once they do, who can say what will happen.

Either way. You're going to die.

Unless you can escape.

HERE'S WHAT TO DO:

Post with your character (name and fandom in the subject).
Other people reply and they become your 'team' the survivors trying to escape.
Work together, or don't, to outsmart the Xenomorphs (the aliens).
You will also run into these little suckers, and if they catch you they'll cling to your face, implanting an alien baby inside you. Have fun with that. They're hard to get off as their tail wraps around your throat, usually to knock the victim out to make them easier to handle.
Get to an escape pod on the ship you're on, or blow up the ship. Maybe you all die. Either way, have fun!
WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEATHS AND CREEPY ALIENS!

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"Weren't we done with aliens not even three months ago?"

Steve's shield is intact but acid has burned off the paint in a lot of places. There's a spattering of holes in the arms of his uniform. It took him three hours to make it between his apartment and the tower, trying to tuck panicking civilians away in any safe place he could find along the route and dodging the monsters that reared up from the depths in the process.

The subways were a no go, absolutely infested, swarms of the little face-grabbing creatures trickling out every once in a while, but he'd managed to bring something useful from the journey.

He drops a severed black arm onto the work table with a thunk, it's acid blood is mostly drained now so it shouldn't burn through... right away.

"Got this to work with at least."

"Thanks, honey, that's just what I was hoping you'd bring back for dinner," Tony says, trying to save one of his devices and the pad that Jarvis was currently loaded into from any of that bubbling yellow goop that threatened to drip from the severed section of the arm. "White wine sauce? Au Graten potatoes? Maybe some scallops? I know you like them so much."

Who does Steve think he is? Banner?

No. Banner's out messing up Manhattan again in that really amazing way he has. Tony's just bitter because, so far, two of his suits have been utterly corroded by those monsters.

So he's pouting.

"I forgot the milk but when I saw it at the butcher's shop I just couldn't resist." Steve snorts, putting his shield down on the table and leaning into it with a heavy sigh. Fighting those things is exhausting...

He tilts his head at the arm, considering it. The creatures seem built to kill, mindless in their violence. They are sentient from what he's seen, but only as much as an animal needs to be. All their intelligence is focused on refining their predatory instinct, on terrorizing new prey.

"I'm thinking flambe. Or maybe freeze it for later."

He'd quite like to just dunk the ugly bastards in some liquid nitrogen, actually....

Snickering, despite how badly this situation is becoming and how rapidly the city itself is succumbing, Tony waggles an eyebrow at the blond and slips into one of the gauntlets from his ruined suit to pick the monsterous, plated arm up.

It's heavier than it had seemed before with the full suit on and Tony has Jarvis open the freezer in Bruce's lab before throwing the arm inside. A few drops of acid blood sizzle right through the racks. He doesn't pay much attention.

"You'd obsessed with frozen foods. I think we need to speak to a psychiatrist."

He pours himself a scotch and downs it before looking up at Steve and turning serious.

"Did you find Barton?"

Steve shakes his head, straightening up and crossing his arms across his chest.

"No, but I've seen an arrow or two around and I haven't seen his body. Knowing him he's found some high ground to defend from and is holed up not drawing attention to himself."

Steve is pretty dedicated to assuming the best, for now.

"Have you been able to reach Romanoff or Thor?"

Tony doesn't look up, fingers sliding over a workstation console. "Thor checked in an hour ago," he starts and then frowns lightly and pushes the screen away from him before he sits heavily on a stool that protests his sudden weight.

"He brought Widow back."

She's in the next room, Steve, under a sheet. He doesn't take team mate death too well. He never has. Tony's a little surprised by that.

He freezes up for a long moment as the sting of that realization licks down every nerve, finally peeling back the cowl and rubbing one gloved hand against his face. That short statement, Tony's expression, the weight of the silence that stretches between them, tells him more than he wants to know.

"Dammit..." There's an immediate surge of guilt that he knows is irrational, but it comes anyway, rage and grief tripping on it's heels. "Please tell me it wasn't one of those... the things that break out of..."

He can't even say it, just presses his fist against the sharp ache in his chest.

Tony presses a sigh into the palm of his hand. Weeks ago, he and Steve had jaunted off happily to Amish country, eaten too much cake and strudel and drank too much hard apple cider. Natasha had been sent to bring them back.

And now she--

"No," he says, getting up again. He has work to do. He has to keep busy. His mind seems almost too full to do much good, though. He can't properly think. "No, it ripped out her throat."

Saying it is like acknowledging it and Tony storms over to Steve, as if Prince Charming with his perfect hair -- the cowl must be molded to keep it that way -- can somehow make it all better.

"We have to find Barton."

Steve puts a steadying hand on Tony's shoulder, face knit with worry. He'd seen that expression at least once before, that snap of anger, frustration and pain that had been pulled to the surface by what happened to Coulson...

Once had been enough, frankly.

"We'll find him, I promise, but we can't go storming around aimlessly calling his name right now. Honestly, he'll probably be more on his game not knowing."

It feels like an unkind thing to say but he knows first hand just how true it is....

"I need a minute to get my head on straight, I think you do too. Let's not jeopardize what she fought for by being reckless. Until Banner comes back to himself you and me are it on figuring how to beat these things."

Edited 2012-09-11 01:33 (UTC)

"No, right. You're right." He clears his throat. "I'm fine. A little tired, working on caffeine fumes and all." He is just going to keep his gaze to himself, well aware that the things he feels are visible inside of it.

He has Jarvis pull up the files, the model of the creatures and their reproductive cycle. He has the AI scan the piece in the freezer and while that's working, he pours himself another scotch.

If they can kill Natasha, they can kill all of them. Maybe not Hulk. But Banner's not going to take too well to a decimated team either.

"Steve." The word seems disjointed on his tongue. "I'm going down to my workshop. I have to fix one of the suits. We need a new aerial."

He's not sure Tony should be having a drink right now, but the last thing he needs is to start an argument over something like that at a time like this.

"How can I help?"

Steve is smart, he's strong, he's got a mind like a steel trap and a mean right hook, but one to one those traits are nothing against those monsters and he knows it.

Strategy, leadership, helping the people who know more than he does about the aspects of battle he's not meant for; those are the best things he can offer right now.

Tony looks at Steve, perhaps for the first time, like a friend. They've worked together before, spent time together before, but this is different. This is so much more different than deciding to lead a battle against the Chitari together over Coulson's death.

Already, the amount of casualties in New York are astronomical. His ability to be anything but hopeless is at least making the corners of his mouth lift up.

"I'm going to have to get past the nesting chamber on floor thirty-six." Nothing is safe. Not even Avengers Tower. They don't have the resources to clean it all up. "Why don't you let me slip into something a little more comfortable and then you can take me out for a good time."

"You got it."

Steve nods, sound and steady. Getting Tony through to the right floors is a goal, something to focus on, and he's grateful for the distraction.

Despair is too easy in moments like this if you don't have something to work towards, even if it's a straight and simple short term goal like 'get Tony from Point A to Point B' it's something Steve can do.

He pulls the cowl into place and grabs the shield.

Tony throws some things into a backpack, tools from up here, his pad, a water bottle. Coming back, without the suit, will be impossible. And he's not sure that he can fix the suit if the power's been disrupted down there.

One thing to say about his Malibu home? Everything had been close at hand. He really shouldn't have spread this place out some much. Had he really needed a grotto?

Yeah, yeah he really needed a grotto, never mind.

He heads for the central stairs, unarmored. Unprotected. Well, not quite. That's what Steve's for, right?

Steve is, as such, right on his heels, keeping the shield to one side, in between their bodies and the open center of the stairwell. The railing has been pulled out or just dissolved away in places so Steve sticks close to the wall and keeps Tony veering in that direction too.

They make it three floors down before Steve hears the faint sound he's been dreading. He seizes Tony's shoulder to stop him mid step, ears pricked to find that faint gurgling again...

And it comes, from a few flights below them, the wet rolling click of the creatures heavy breathing, their low hisses. There's at least two, maybe three, of the voices, overlapping each other, the scrape of claws as they step onto the concrete of the stairs.

Not daring to make a sound Steve nods to the landing and the doorway to the next floor rather than moving his whole arm to point, urging Tony toward it with slow soft steps.

Tony is not a super human and without the suit to allow Jarvis to feed him information on heat sources, lack there of, sonic waves or air disturbances, he's running blind here. Two floors beneath them, the stairs are blacked out. The emergency lighting has kicked on. But Tony knows from experience that these things, while bipedal in the way that gorillas can be, do not use surfaces the way that people do.

They can climb. They can sprint with extraordinary acrobatics up walls and over ceilings. He doesn't know how. He's not a biologist. And physics tells him it has to be biological because nothing else makes sense.

When Steve touches his arm, Tony almost doesn't stop. It's the grip that makes him realize that Steve means business, however, and the slight nudge in the direction of a door to a floor of unknown security is bad news.

He glances back over his shoulder and returns the nod, sliding his feet over the floor rather than walk. The trouble is the door.

It's not quiet. And it's not creature proof either. The moment Tony's hand pulls back the heavy metal, those things are alerted. Quiet clicking and scraping turns into silence. And that's bad news.

No pretense now, just terror and the knowledge that split seconds are all they've got.

"Go, far stairwell, DON'T wait for me!"

Steve shoves Tony through the doorway ahead of him, shield up as he darts after him. The floor they step onto is dim, full of flickering lights, debris and the stench of death, but they've got no other avenues yet.

The door won't hold the things long but Steve closes and locks it anyway. It'll buy them some time - though not much judging by the resonating THUD from the far side seconds after the bolt slides in.

He turns his back on the door, though every instinct tries to convince him otherwise, and breaks into a run for the far side of the floor.

The moment that Steve pushes him through the door, Tony turns to find Captain America's elbow and tug him with him. Luckily, the blond's already got it handled, allowing Tony to go.

He's no where near as fast as Steve, no where near as agile, but he designed and built this Tower -- and later, rebuilt it. He knows exactly where to go, exactly what to avoid. He knows the weaknesses, too. And he'd do even better if he could call up the Jarvis interface, but he can't risk the sound right now and he can't stop to get the pad out of his backpack.

At this rate, Steve will catch up and surpass him, but Tony has to stop fast, teetering on the edge of a whole that really ought to not be there. The dull yellowish hue of slime around the edges immediately tells them what's caused the destruction. It's hard to tell how far down it goes, but Tony can't jump the expanse, so the only way to go is down...and hope for the best.

When Tony pulls to a scrambling stop Steve has to put the breaks on hard too. They both wobble for a moment on the crumbling edge of the used-to-be floor before Steve gets a hand on Tony's shirt and pulls him a step back. There's no way around the gap, the whole hallway is just GONE for the next ten feet, the drop is what they'll have to tackle...

Steve puts the shield on the floor, hooks his foot into one strap and grabs Tony's arm, bending low and pulling the other man's wrist over his shoulder.

"On my back, I'll get us down."

He can't keep his balance if he has to carry Tony in his arms but backpack style he'll have hands free. It might be loud, but so will screams if they fall five stories and break their legs. Letting the shield absorb the disperse the impact is the safest route.

There's a crash from behind them as the door to the stairwell torques out of shape, hinges popping off, those high screams echoing down the empty floor.

He feels like a child, arms around Steve's neck, knees pressed to his sides and calves hooked around his hips. He's never felt this way, not as a six year old that could take apart appliances and catalogue the parts, not as a nine year old that could build an engine from scratch. He might act like a boy with his drinking and his fuck the world attitude -- literally and figuratively -- but he's been and adult with and adult brain since he could walk. And his father treated him that way too.

Hit breath coils in the Captain's ear as Tony gazed over his head, over the ledge, through the flickering lights to the darkness beyond. He's looking for those creatures before he can see nothing but darkness. His arms and thighs tighten automatically.

Steve is calm and sure. He doesn't complain, he moves as if he's done this a hundred time and he has. Tony has seen the footage, some of it never released to the public. He remembers Howard telling him how he not only knew the greatest hero ever to live, but he helped create him.

And Tony still feels so useless, even now, remembering that.

Though he has no fear of heights, emotion causes his head to slightly drop to Steve's shoulder. They move carefully down one floor and then another, avoiding a third that seems to have all of its lights intact. It's just too dangerous if they're being tracked, those the beasts, finally having broken in, have leaped across the hole in the floor and the sounds of their pursuit are softening as they move farther away.

Tony taps Steve lightly as they reach a fourth story to stop there. At least for a rest and to get their bearings.

The initial drop is a long one, they land two stories below on darkened floor, but the crumbling unsteady nature of their landing spot leads them to leaping again. The fourth story looks as safe as any so Steve takes Tony's silent suggestion toward it gladly, bypassing the lit third floor and landing with a surprisingly dull THUNK on top of the shield. Carpet. A floor full of offices.

The gap in the flooring narrows as they descend so the hall here is a bit less damaged but it still has a sizeable acid-hole in it that would take a running start to clear.

Once he's taken them a few feet from the hole and they have a solid floor beneath them Steve lets Tony down onto his feet again, sliding the shield off his booted foot and back onto his arm as he peers into the darkened hallway that now lies ahead of them.

When the sounds from up top have died away he puts a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Can we access the other stairwell going that way?"

"If it's not blocked, likely." He's whispering, though his naturally deeper voice gives off a certain sort of resonance that he can't really mask by keeping his voice soft. His sneakered feet lead the way through a maze of offices, each clustered around a central work areas meant to promote unity or some other sort of bullshit Pepper attended a seminar about last year.

He shuffles to a stop, not because of a blockage or an obstruction, not because of noise, but because he realizes that dawn is just about to break. He's not sure if he should be happy about that or not.

More light works in their favor and in the favor of the beasts that rampage his poor tower. The stairwells, however, should still be mostly dark. He offers Steve a grin that speaks more to his slowly blooming hopelessness before starting off again to the emergency stairs. He holds his breath as he pushes it open but--

Thank God. Empty. His nerves are on end and this is only the beginning.

Steve breathes an equal sigh of relief as the door pops open and nothing claws it's shrieking way up the walls to devour them, but he still closes it behind them with extra care, taking a long look down the stairwell before starting down to the next landing.

This flight seems less damaged than the previous one, with more intact railings and a startling lack of acid. The absence of the stench of the stuff is almost startling, in fact, but it makes Steve feel just a hair more safe.

The next few flights are taken relatively slowly, caution winning out over the urge to rush to their goal.

Five more flights down, around what the stairwell's signage tells him is the 15th floor, Steve pulls up short at the door. Unlike the others they've passed it's just a crack open, weak light filtering through the gap in slow trickles... there are sounds too, weak and wavering, not the frightening noises of the aliens but instead the woeful sounds of human beings.

He hesitates, paralyzed for a moment in trying to decide the best course of action. He and Tony should keep going, but what if those people were alive, were ... salvageable.

Tony's ready to move on. He's all about cutting the trip wire and helping people, but whoever is on this floor is probably beyond help and Tony already knows that he's probably the luckiest of them all, up high in his tower. Still, those creatures had been only a handful of floors below him and he hadn't realized. If Steve hadn't come back when he did--

He turns wary brown eyes up at the super soldier, peering through the glass on the window in the center of the door, and knows that they can't leave. Steve, and Thor's Mjolnir, seem to be the only two things that can resist the acid. Tony's suits certainly can't.

That makes Captain America the last hope for what is beyond the door.

Tony takes the lead, hand against the metal and the hinges groan a somber song as the door swings slowly outward. His eyes have to adjust but when they do--

He recognizes that bow, on the ground.

And the hand not that far from it. Not thinking, Tony darts forward immediately. At least he has the good sense to stay quiet.

Steve is right on his heels, feeling bile rise in his throat even before he gets a good look. He takes it all in as if in slow motion; bow on the ground, the arrows fired wildly into the wall and ceiling, the gaping bloody wound where Clint Barton's heart should be...

Slowly, he sinks to his knees next to Clint's body, reaching up with one gloved hand to close those empty staring eyes.

"Jesus Christ..." It's less a curse and more a prayer.

The moaning that drew them in is still going though, still faint but closer. Steve struggles back up to his feet and tries to compose himself, looking at Tony. "I have to keep you with me. We... we'll come back for him, I promise we will. There's nothing we can do right now."

It's pretty much impossible not to fall into 'soldier mode' at a time like this, but the look on Tony's face reminds him vividly of that moment on the Helicarrier months ago; 'We are NOT soldiers!' barked out by a voice thick with anger and frustration.

*spectacular failure of self-restraint roll* *all the tags*

I am fantastically okay with this.

Huzzah!

<3

\o/

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Jeez, phone tags...'an' not 'and!' So many typos.

It's cool, I am deeply forgiving of spelling errors considering how many I make on my own. XD

:p I really only ever notice my own. AFTER the fact!

Always the way, innit? :(

spectacular failure of self-restraint roll all the tags