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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The engineering booth was cramped. As expected, this was only one set of controls. The other happened to be across the hall. At least it was visible from this one. They would have to work together.

Bruce's background, while not in engineering, still makes this small lesson a little easier for him to manage. And, as luck would have it, the system isn't that complex to operate.

"The flux door valve is here. Ten degrees at a time. That will jump start the coolant system again."

Bruce nodded; he glanced to the other one, nodded once, and went for it-- carefully, slowly; as quietly as one could with one's feet peeling away from the sticky ground.

He got himself situated in the booth, glancing ovre and giving a nod. Yes, he's ready, hands on the valve.

Time to go to work.

If this doesn't want, they're not quite screwed but Tony will have to go deeper into the muck. Alone. Banner will need to stay back here and work the valves while he clears the vents that lead the the cold, dangerous vacuum of space.

Fifty degrees. He counts to ten and watches the gauge as it moves downward. He turns his own wheel. Forty degrees. Soon. God, he hopes it's soon. He's dehydrating too quickly.

Bruce does his part. Twist, twist. He's calm, at least, not targeted. He's doing a good, keeping calm, and he stopped limping, leg straight.

Thirty degrees. Then twenty. Ten more...

...and that's it, right? They're good, now, right? No overheating, no nothing? He looks across at Tony, expectant, hopeful--

The hiss makes Tony fist bump in the air, grinning wide through a filthy mask that can not hide his joy. It's already starting to feel cooler, the head disipating as cold air blasts down at them from the vents.

It's not a good place to be, however, as they're in the entry way of a breeding chamber. It's hot for a reason.

And, unfortunately, it had hissed for a reason too. That's not the air conditioning. That's one of those scorpion like creatures. Tony turns, slowly, to glance behind his shoulder when it jumps for him.

"Tony!"

In the moment he forgets himself. He doesn't get angry, he gets scared. He knows what those face-grabbing things to do, and is pretty sure Tony doesn't want to be an egg incubator, or give head to an alien that'll come out of his chest.

Bruce is already reaching, ready to grab, rend, fight...

...but keeps the green at bay. He'd be just as likely to hurt Tony as he lost control as he is to kill the breeder.

"Woah!" Lobster legs scrape his cheek and wrap around one ear as he shoves a hand up to protect his face. He can hear Bruce slushing around behind him and the grip on either his damp, hot skin or soaking wet waistband comes at only the most opportune of times. Tony falls and the creature doesn't get a good hold so tries again, tail lashing.

He's ready for it this time, using Bruce to get him up so he can stomp down on the thing--

Ineffective. Damn it.

"Plan B!" Too many plan Bs lately! "Run!"

"Run where?" they climbed down into the pit of doom, okay. Getting up and put of it will take more that they have with something chasing them... Possibly more than one of those thinnga hatching behind them.

But at least it's rapidly cooling and they're no longer sweating to death, right? Ship isn't going to blow... But they're not out of the woods yet with all those eggs behind them.

After all, you need a Queen to lay eggs.

"Starboard." They climbed down because their access to the ladder was compromised. There are other ladders, all right, none on this level, but there are other ways to go. Bruce won't like it, but Tony's just going to have to stop caring what Bruce likes because man this is a nightmare.

He's sticky. His face was almost raped.

Pushing the slightly smaller scientist through a hatch, Tony climbs in after and spins the locking mechanism closed. "I pick the vacation next time."

"You picked this 'vacation'," Bruce snaps as he crams himself into the hatch. "Next vacation is going to be a remote, earthbound location. Maybe with palm trees and no people for miles."

He shifts, cramped and and frustrated. Oh well. Time to keep under control, keep moving.

"Now where? The coolant is running again, so we aren't going to boil in out own sweat... " which is a start! "But we need to get off. Destroy the ship and let the vacuum handle the critters."

Oh Doctor Banner, are you coming onto him? The snap actually gets a smile. A smile. Tony's not even a masochist. He just... Has some quirks.

"Remind me to pack some little umbrellas, all right?" He only says this because if they're going somewhere far away and remote without people for miles, he's going to have to make his coconut cocktails all on his own.

Tony scratches at the back of his neck as the image of the ship's schematic comes through the hazy of exhaustion. They can't rest yet, but his lips are cracked and dry and his throat is on fire.

"We're going back up to the crew mess." Dehydration will kill them. Or make their brains shut down. And then those things will kill them.

Banner is too busy thinking about getting off the ship, of keeping frayed nerves soothed. He grunts once, nods, and lapses into silence. After all, Banner knows full well that The Hulk won't come out only for anger, no. He'll come out to preserve Banner's life...

That could be messy.

But he starts to move as directed. At least the big critters aren't in the ship now. They just have to worry about the facehuggers.

Something has to give. The lid on the pressure cooker is coming off again. Tony can see the steam. He thought that maybe, since Banner had let him out not more than seven hours ago, he'd be good for awhile... But this is stressful. Tony's joking doesn't seem to be able to calm him down.

And this ship has so little to work with. It's distraught. It's got redundant systems keeping other systems online so that they don't drift away into nothingness and the air keeps circulating.

He's not sure what is left to cannibalize.

That means he has to get to the Iron Man suit. He has no choice now.

After crawling and wriggling and pulling themselves back to where they started after their naps, Tony points Banner towards the shower. The gauge showing their water supply is misreading. He has no idea if this is a good idea, but they can't be smelling like this. "You first," he says, generously.

Sadly, the Hulk is much like the energizer bunny; he doesn't need much time to recharge because he can just keep going. Banner just goes along for the ride as best he can.

"Thanks," he says once they're in the crew quarters. He strips without hesitation, heading into the shower and leaving his sodden jumpsuit in a heap. Shower? Don't mind if he does. Especially with alien gunk between his toes.

He gives Banner five minutes. Just five. He needs a shower too, he's sweating and that gunk is up his bare back. Bruce is just going to have to deal with Tony Stark and his night light chest piece hanging out under the water with him. It's economical, he tells himself.

And he really can't stand the thought of that stuff on him now that he's still and he's had a drink.

Personal bubble, Stark. Personal bubble. But it's being invaded and Bruce just looks at him for a moment before allowing him as much space as he can, before he shakes water out of his curly hair huffs a little.

"How do you sleep with that thing?" he asks, because-- well. He's going to ask, okay. It's something to talk about that isn't alien facehuggers, ovipositors, acid blood, or anybody dying. Or, you know, being naked.

Tony's not looking. He's shampooing his hair and trying to let the water pressure get the gunk off of his back. He really needs to scrape himself clean. Old Roman style. Couple of pretty girls, naked to the waist, oil and sand-- Okay, let's not pop a boner in the shower with Banner, all right?

"Couple of thick shirts and on my stomach. Or an eye mask."

"Can't really see you in an eyemask," he says, but lets it go.

He's used to being grimy, used to going days without a shower - being on the run makes cleanliness a prize to be won, not a part of the daily grind. So savors what he can manage, and then gets out of the shower to towel down and look for more clean clothes.

Another jumpsuit, still too big. Fine by him. Means if he lets the not-so-jolly green giant out, it might last for a few seconds before he'd be rampaging naked down the ship or something.

"I can't see anyone in an eyemask," he jokes, though the gravity of the situation sort of beats it out of him. He finishes up a good ten minutes before he wants to, hair plastered down as he turns to watch Bruce get dressed.

It's like being back in the boarding school. No privacy. He doesn't actually care. It's just Bruce's face he's interested in at the moment.

"We're getting out of here, Banner. Think you can whip up a meal or something? I'll be done in a second." He's going to get dressed and slip out of here the moment Bruce is in the back of the mess hall. The part of the ship with his suit is de-pressurized. But he has to try and get it. And he has to do it while Bruce is occupied.

Yes. Tony Stark has an issue with playing martyr these days.

It's going to be great when he realizes just what Tony's doing. Dupe him, get him busy, and ditch him. It'll be great, alright: great as in greatly angering. But he manages to keep from blowing his top. Thankfully, panic is a good offset to rage.

Food is forgotten, but he doesn't know the ship as well as Tony does. He doesn't want to go running off blindly. But getting to the command chair from the crew quarters isn't hard, and there are no more of those... things, so far.

He tries to figure out the communicators. Soon, over the loud speakers Bruce's voice rings clear, like a churchbell: STARK. Don't be an idiot.

Tony actually chuckles to himself. He shouldn't, it's cruel, and there is a seventy-five percent chance that he's never going to see the other man again, but it makes him feel better.

"Sorry Banner, it's sort of my MO," he chirps, not really sure if the intercom works both ways. He's already halfway down to the ruined compartments and he can only hope there's some sort of pressurized suit available that will let him work his way to the Iron Man suit.

They need to get out of here. Lost in Space isn't really so fun any more. Not after that close call in the engine room.

Someone, someone is very angry and grasping at the last tethers of his self-control like a drowning man does a life raft. God he's going to be so mad later, Stark, so very very mad.

But he's not able to do anything. Tony's off to a part of the ship, and Bruce is having a hard time focusing on everything except keeping the pressure cooker lid closed. Hopefully, Tony's gambit will pay off, and they can get the hell out of here without anymore casualties...

...but chances are slim.

He's bleeding heavily by the time he gets to his suit, packed up in a suitcase, his 'have too much money, will travel' sort of set up that he brings with him in case of emergencies. It's been upgraded a lot since Monaco...

Ah, Monaco. That was like a walk in the park.

The creature that attacked him blown out into space, Tony limps, dragging the suit he's a little too weak to put on back up to the mess with him. He needs some super glue and a band aid for his leg. Hopefully Banner's not big and pretending to be pea soup.

You are so damn lucky, Stark. Banner is waiting and pacing and the very epitome of that exposed nerve that he once compared himself to. But once he sees the limping, miserable man he is quick to haul him bodily into the crew quarters, to start inspecting wounds and getting things cut, bandaged.

He doesn't say a word. Words might lead to shouting, shouting might lead to roaring. Just best that he works in tense silence.

"I thought we were suppose to be flirting later," Tony quips, sitting back on one of the cots. The leg of the jumpsuit is in tatters, the wound stretching from the back of the thigh around to the knee. It's deep.

Deep enough that Tony is starting to feel light headed.

"Shoulda bought me dinner first, Banner. You're a crappy date."

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