Marc Cerasini - AVP - Alien vs. Predator

“What the hell is this, Weyland?” Sebastian cried.

Weyland smiled pragmatically, his skin waxy and pale in the gloom. “We’ve lost contact with the surface. And this discovery is too important to hand it over to the Chinese or the Russians.”

“But this is supposed to be a scientific expedition.”

Weyland bristled. “This is my expedition, Dr. De Rosa, and I will define it. Until I know what is going on, we will be taking all necessary precautions.”

Weyland gestured toward the sarcophagus, and instantly his security team began to unload the ancient weapons rack. They carefully rolled the devices up in protective wrapping and stuffed them into a large backpack.

Lex spied the activity and confronted Stafford. “What are you doing?”

“My job. Yours is over,” Max said as he slammed a magazine into his machine gun.

Lex’s eyes narrowed. “I told you, when I lead a team, I don’t leave my team. My job is over when everyone is back on the boat safely, and that gun doesn’t change anything.”

Stafford looked to his boss. “Mr. Weyland?”

Weyland looked at Max, then at Lex.

“She brought us here, she’s getting us home.” He faced Max. “You and your crew back her up.”

As everyone assembled on the threshold of the new corridor, Max stepped aside so Lex could pass. “After you,” he said.

Lex ignored the slight condescension and consulted her wrist compass. “This bearing should take us back to the entrance. We make it to the surface and we regroup at the whaling station.”

“What about Thomas and Rousseau?” asked Sebastian.

Lex glanced at him, then looked away. “We’ll find them on the way out.”

Minutes after Lex and her group departed the Chamber of the Sarcophagus, a seemingly immovable stone portal rose into the ceiling. Then a shimmering blur appeared at the doorway of the murky chamber, stirring the stagnant air.

Blue lightning crackled and the Predator uncloaked. As the creature stalked toward the open sarcophagus, a low clicking sound reverberated deep within its throat. Standing over the now empty weapons bin, the clicking morphed into an angry rumble.

A breeze stirred as more ghostly figures drifted into the chamber. One by one, they disengaged their cloaking devices and approached the sarcophagus, until all were assembled.

The lead Predator tapped the computer keypad on its wrist with two oddly elongated middle fingers. There was a hum of energy from behind his mask as a ruby-red ray emanating from his glassy eye slits stabbed through the darkness.

Utilizing the thermal sensor built into its battle mask, the Predator scanned the stone floor for any traces of residual energy. With its head twisting to the left, then to the right, the creature’s high-tech dreadlocks swung about, scanning every inch of the chamber. Finally, the Predator found the spoor—the residual heat of footprints left behind by the humans as they moved on.

The Predator roared and thrust the tip of its curved spear in the direction of the long corridor, where the trail of ghostly footprints led deeper into the pyramid. Shifting the spear in its hand, the Predator engaged its stealth armor and faded from view. With clicks and grunts, the rest of the Predators followed in a blur, right behind the leader.

The long, broad corridor beyond the Chamber of the Sarcophagus stretched off into the darkness. Lex and the others followed the passageway for about three hundred feet until they found themselves crossing a stone bridge constructed of carved blocks as large as houses.

Nothing could be seen on either side of the bridge, just a vast, black emptiness. Frigid blasts rose up from the depths. Lex pointed her flashlight into the darkness, but the beam could not penetrate the abyss. Out of curiosity, she broke a chemical glow stick and dropped it over the side.

For a long time, everyone watched the light fall. When it finally faded in the distance, it was still falling.

“How deep could that be?” Connors asked.

Sebastian managed an ironic smile. “To hell perhaps? If we’re not already there.”

Miller stared at the huge construction stone under his feet. “We’re standing on a single piece of solid rock that’s bigger than a Wal-Mart—and these people built a bridge out of it. How could primitives have possibly moved it here?”

“Clearly—”

“They had help,” Stafford interrupted. “You’ve said that before, Dr. De Rosa. But who helped them?”

“An extraterrestrial intelligence from another civilization,” said Miller.

“But why?” Max replied. “If some advanced star-faring civilization did come to Earth in ancient times, why hang around? These ancients may have had something like a civilization, but compared to an alien race that could travel across galaxies, they were primitives.”

“So are we, ” Sebastian replied.

Weyland hobbled past them, an oxygen bottle slung over his shoulder. The industrialist no longer seemed interested in their speculations. Max Stafford broke off his conversation with Sebastian, then hurried to catch up with his employer.

On the other end of the bridge they found another door—this one framed by panels decorated with even more elaborate hieroglyphics.

“This looks important,” said Sebastian.

The darkness beyond the threshold was absolute. Lex drew a powerful storm flare and ignited it. Raising the flickering light high, she led them into a long, broad corridor lined with mammoth jade-hued statues mounted on square stone pedestals. Each effigy was a representation of a vaguely humanoid being between eight and ten feet tall, with impossibly broad shoulders and hair bound in long dreadlocks. The faces varied—some were broad, flat and featureless, while others had narrow, close-set eyes and a mouth surrounded by mandibles that looked like they belonged on a shellfish.

“The green men aren’t so little,” Lex observed.

“They have different heads, different faces,” Stafford added, facing Sebastian. “Do you think they are supposed to be half-human, half-animal gods, like the ancient Egyptians worshipped?”

Sebastian shook his head. “The flat faces are actually masks, I think, perhaps ceremonial. These… crab faces… may also be masks.”

“I hope,” said Bass.

Sebastian noted that some of the effigies were depicted in regal poses, but most were more dynamic, engaged in some sort of battle, usually against a strange, crustaceanlike creature with a long, narrow, eyeless head and a bony, segmented tail. Despite the unearthly artistic style and sensibility, it was clear that the heroic central figure in each sculpture were the humanoids.

“Like St. George,” Stafford marveled.

“The English knight who killed the dragon?” asked Miller, gazing up at a statue.

“St. George was Turkish… well, Cappadocian, actually,” Sebastian noted. “He was born in Asia Minor, though he did indeed become the patron saint of England in the fourteenth century.”

“Recognize what’s on their shoulders?” Lex asked.

The creatures wore weapons on some kind of shoulder mount—the guns were exact replicas of the devices Weyland and his men had just looted from the sarcophagus. Squinting through his thick glasses, Miller examined the statues.

“These weapons are carved in roughly life size,” he whispered, looking up into the sightless stone eyes of one of the effigies. “Which makes our friends here pretty big dudes.”

Sebastian directed them to a large painted mural, which depicted humans bowing in supplication to the giants. Max Stafford appeared at his shoulder.

“We worshipped these things?”