BUG STOMPERS by JPC

CHAPTER 2 – HELLOS

273 Years Later

The wind was howling and whipping surface of the desolate planet known as CelioLS-119 smooth, although all the passing vessels and freighters referred to it as Deadsville-119, only because there was nothing living on it at the moment - other than a few hives here and there. The planet had been evacuated several months ago just after the first bug sightings. The infestation needed to be exterminated before the planet's residents could return.
The only thing that could be heard for miles over the roaring wind was the sound of a dropship’s powerful engines fighting against the ferocious onslaught as it circled over a tall mound of rocks about a hundred yards away from an abandoned town.
The pilot of the dropship looked down from the side window. "Holding steady at 50 feet.” She checked the readings of all the instruments on the dash, “we’ve got pressure 20, storm’s about to hit - safe for a touchdown evacuation – ETA?"
A female voice responded to her. "Almost there. Hold it tight Bobir. ETA 10 mins, A1’s got it covered " In the background was the sound of gunfire and high pitch, inhuman screeching.
“So - how’s the weather up there?”,
“How’s the company down there?”
“Just great”.
A chuckle, “so’s the weather”

Far beneath the circling dropper, inside a cave beneath the derelict town, four figures, dressed in heavy, black armor and helmets and carrying state of the art lethal weaponry, swept down the tight, encrusted corridor spraying it with gunfire. For every bug they killed, another took its place. But the small squad continued to advance, carefully stepping over the dead creatures, avoiding the pools of acid blood.
The Alien drones began to retreat, heading back to protect their Queen. They blocked the entrance to the nest, but it didn't discourage the squad of humans. Their fire rained down on the drones, burning the repulsive creatures alive.
Once the A1 squad was satisfied that their path was now unhindered, they advanced, pushing aside the charred remains of the drones.
The leader of the squad raised a hand and signaled for the rest of the team to halt, and then stealthily continued forwards alone, stepping over a dead drone - or at least it appeared to be dead. The drone leapt up and grabbed the leader's ankle.
The leader unsheathed a large machete hunting knife and cleanly sliced the creature's arm at the elbow, at the same time laying a round or two into it – right in the mouth. As the acid blood ate into the steel of the knife, it was tossed aside by the leader, who then bent to remove the creature's lifeless hand, that was still wrapped around their ankle.

About 100 meters ahead was the almighty Alien Queen, suspended on the ceiling over her gigantic, translucent egg sack, screeched in fury at the destruction of her children. Her arms flailed angrily at the approaching human. The other humans held back, but remained ready and poised - their weapons raised in preparation for evasive maneuvers.
The leader crouched and edged meter by meter closer to the Queen. 70 meters… 50 meters… the Queen began to detach her egg sack… 30 meters – time to up the pace, the leader started to sprint towards the immense beast ahead, dodging face huggers bursting out from their dormant eggs left and right… 10 meters… 5… The leader lifted a KS-91 pulse rifle and sprayed fifty rounds into the Queen's hideous, screaming face.
The bullets ripped it's immense head to shreds. The Queen haphazardly fell from her crudely suspended housing and crushed a dozen of her own eggs beneath her. The leader gave the signal and the other three squad members moved forward and began to spray the remaining eggs with burning hot fire, incinerating everything in the Alien nest chamber.
The pilot glanced down toward the rock mound again as she continued to circle the dropship. "How's it going down there. Give me status?"
The female voice returned. "It's clean. Hostiles terminated. Get that Falcon ready to Swoop. Pickup in 2"
The pilot smiled. "Another one bites the dust. On route. I’m on my way Lieutenant"
The dropship landed several yards away from the mound. The four figures stepped out of a hole in the mound and approached the drop ship.
As they walked the leader pulled their helmet off – A torrent of blonde hair cascaded down onto her shoulders. The A1 Bug Squad clambered up the ramp and the dropship immediately lifted off.

Orbiting the lifeless planet was a bulky, rusted military vessel, decked out in various battle guns and hundreds of protruding antenna. As the dropship passed back into outer space and towards the orbiting ship, the colossal writing on the vessel became legible – the dropship was about to dock back inside its mother ship – the Medica 018. As battered and worn the Medica 018 looked on the outside, the inside was even worse. It was rusted and needed a major cleaning. Still none of its crew seemed to mind – It was home.
The dropship lifted into its cradle beneath the belly of the Medica and came to its final resting place in the docking bay. When the ramp lowered, the four figures and the pilot exited. They made their way out of the bay through a door that noisily slid open upon their approach.
“I tell you Bobir – Ganz and Hodner – the two best gunners I’ve ever worked with” The blonde Lieutenant was saying to the Pilot.
A tall, heavily build black man ran to catch up with them “Well Lieutenant, you’re quite a piece of work yourself” he joked smiling at his superiors.
“That better have been a compliment Ganz – You two go clean yourselves up and we’ll talk at dinner” the Lieutenant replied pushing him playfully in the side of the head.

The attractive blonde woman was the leader of the squad of Alien fighters – informally known as ‘Bug Hunters’ or ‘Bug Stompers’. She was tall, a good head taller than some of her other female counterparts. Most men were intimidated by her height and she used it to her full advantage. But then again, she intimidated most men in general. By her sultry looks, by her piercing pale blue eyes, by her lean and muscular physique - by the fact that she chose to kill some of the most feared creatures in the known universe for a living.
The squad made their way down the main corridor, discussing the most recent extermination among other things, she continued on as the rest of her crew turned down various other corridors. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on her. When was the last time she had slept? Thirty-six hours ago? Which was about seventeen hives ago. Seventeen hives and seventeen Queens on that planet. A more than typical infestation.
The same question haunted her mind over and over again. How did these things get from one planet to another?

Before she had a chance to reach her quarters, she heard running footsteps behind her.
"Lieutenant, Lieutenant... Gateway wants to know the situation on CelioLS-119. They want to know when the residents can return to their homes."
She turned around to face Private Luder, her communications officer. "I told Packer to relay the message. Can't anybody do anything right on this ship?", he was really pushing her here.
"Sorry, Lieutenant, but Sergeant Packer has already retired and..."
"Don't say it, Luder, don't say that you didn't want to disturb him because you don't seem to have a fucking problem disturbing me. Now get over to his quarters and get the report from him. You got that?" She felt bad – but he had to learn.
"Yes, Lieutenant."
She sighed heavily and waited until Luder dejectedly walked away before she turned toward the door to her quarters. When she stepped closer and hit a button on the door, it slid open. She began removing her armor as she walked inside, leaving it wherever it hit the floor, her eyes falling on her prized possession.

Like a ritual, she walked up to the gargantuan creature slung from the ceiling in the corner of her large quarters and touched its chin. The creature was dead, of course, she made sure of that. She would never have allowed a living one on her ship. This was her trophy. Her very first Queen kill. To have it so close to her made her fear the deadly creatures less.
The Alien Queen was a perfect specimen. Her head was lowered and her mouth was forever frozen open, revealing her jagged, razor-sharp teeth. If she had been alive, everyone on the ship would be dead or a host for her young.
The door chirped and the Lieutenant slowly and leisurely sat down in a chair in front of the Queen. "Come in." The door slid open and Bishop entered quietly. She turned to look at him. "I hope you have good news, Bishop. Coz I'm really pissed off, and if it’s bad - ."
"Well, it's good news and bad news." Bishop walked up to her, glancing up at the immobile Queen. Even though he was an android, he still got uneasy looking at the Alien Queen – it brought back quite a few bad memories, always remembering how one of them had literally ripped his arms out during one of his missions with the Lieutenant.
"Give me the good news first," she said.
"I found him."
"And the bad news?"
"He doesn't want to be found."
“You want to elaborate on that?" she asked impatiently with a sigh. "Whatta you mean he doesn't want to be found?"
Bishop shrugged and quietly continued. "He's using an assumed name, Elliot Norris."
She smiled to herself, finally turning away from the Queen. "Elliot? Elliot Norris?"
"I checked his file. It's his father's name. And Norris was his mother's maiden name. So it wasn't that difficult to find him."
"And you know where he is right now?"
"Yes. My source says he's in the vicinity. No exactly close but he’s reachable."
"Right - Change course immediately. We're going."
"I'll inform the bridge." Bishop sighed and headed for the door.
"And bring me his file." She got up and started to walk toward the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Bishop turned weary on his heel and sighed again, "Rebecca..."

Rebecca "Newt" Jorden paused at the entrance to her bathroom and turned back to Bishop. He was the only one she tolerated calling her that. No one else dared call her by her first name for fear of getting a boot shoved up their ass - and not in a very nice manner either. But Bishop had been like a father to her. He had always been there while she had been growing up.
Bishop had promised to always stay with her. To start off with he had ‘advised’ her to remain on Earth, get a good education and work in some office, doing some high-priced fancy intelligences job. She wanted no part of it. She needed to be out there, fighting her demons. Doing this job made her nightmares almost bearable. It gave her a sense of purpose and satisfaction to know that she had prevented future human deaths by disposing of any Alien hives that were reported to her.
"He's not who you think he is anymore."
Newt looked up at him, her thoughts drifting back to the present. "Why do you say that? And what makes you think he’s who you think he is?"
"He's on the most wanted list for one. He appears to take pleasure in ridding the universe of those involved in criminal activities, or at least those that rub him the wrong way."
She shrugged. "So? What's wrong with that?"
"Well, vigilantism is still against the law in most parts of the populated universe."
Newt shrugged again. "His chosen profession means nothing to me. Marines are just more organized and glorified vigilantes"
"True - He's unreliable."
"I've known better people that weren't very reliable." She raised an eyebrow.
"And he's also quite unstable."
"So am I," she said dryly as she walked into the bathroom and snapped the door shut.

Somewhere on 4F Berreman Omnicore

4F Berreman Omnicore was known as the riff raff capital of the Omega system. It was infamous for being home to mercenaries, hoodlums, crime lords and anyone involved in anything illegal. It was also the favorite hangout of the Homo Centurions,
Homo Centurions were a species that resembled humans in most ways, except for the fact that by all scientific reasoning they were roughly half android, one quarter human and one quarter ‘unknown’. The one thing that made Centurions visibly distinguishable from other humans was the fact that the veins in their forehead were very pronounced and a deep purple colour.
The Homo Centurions had been officially brought into existence just after the turn of the new century by followers of a scientific following known these days only as ‘The Post-Modern Prometheus’ – through a process of natural evolution and gene doctoring they were created. A genetic hybridization of humans, humanoid androids and some dieing, unknown alien race which has possibly become extinct since the time of the Centurions creation 150 years ago.
There had been rumors of all kinds of scientific mutations and genetic engineering about for hundreds of years beforehand, nothing could be substantiated – mainly because it was most likely the organizations in power conducting the experiments. But eventually a large section of the military had uncovered and put an end to the experiments, but it was already too late – another sub-species of human had been created.

Like all races, certain areas of the Centurion culture became tainted and large regions of the widespread community were seduced by the offerings of a lifetime of crime and conflict. Like a disease the isolated areas of corruption spread until the majority of the universal Centurion population was overcome. Within 100 years of being set out into the universe they had completely corrupted, decimating themselves and almost every chance to instigate any form of a future for generations to come.
They had acquired all that was bad and wrong about each of their founding races, all the greed, violence, malice, contempt – everything, and multiplied it a thousand fold as one united people. This being the explanation for the fact that half the population of 4F Berreman Omnicore were Homo Centurion.

Roughly 23 years ago after the Human race mercilessly doing all they could to wipe out the existence of the race then known as Centurions, the two civilizations went to all out interstellar war. After 12 years of fighting a peace treaty was signed between the two races declaring the subdivision of the term ‘Human Race’ – There were now two groups of humans – Homo Sapiens and Homo Centurions. Still most of the Homo Sapiens refused to accept their new brethren and its not uncommon to hear them referring to themselves as ‘The Human Race’. There was still quite a lot of unofficial political and otherwise ongoing tension and sparring between the two races. Rarely you will find communities or individuals happy to coincide with each other. Some take the rivalry to yet another extreme.
One thing about the Centurions was clear though – whether clever as all hell or dumb as steaming pile of shit – they were all untrustworthy.

This was the reason Corporal Jonathon Rothe refused to allow his commanding Lieutenant to go down to the surface without the squad.
"I'm going alone, Rothe" Newt stated firmly as she checked the clips on two pulse rifles.
"This is no place for a decent woman, especially one like – like you" he argued.
"Oh spare me the lecture, Rothe. You know I can take care of myself."
"Why the hell are you risking your life for this nobody anyway?"
"Because we need him."
"We need him? What in God’s name do we need a mercenary for? We do not fucking need him!"
Newt strapped the holsters with the pulse guns to each of her thighs. She ignored his question. "I gotta go." She strode swiftly and stubbornly out of the weapons storage.
Rothe tagged along behind her as she made her way down the dropship ramp. When he continued to walk with her, Newt stopped abruptly and turned to him, grabbing the front of his uniform. Rothe saw the determined look in her steely blue eyes and shivered.
"I won't say it again, Jon. I'm going alone." She released him roughly.
Rothe threw up his arms and stepped back. "Fine. Whatever! You're the boss. Go and get raped then…" he hissed as he slumped away, striking the wall with the palm of his hand as he went.

As Newt walked down the stinking, dirt street, she glanced left and right from the corners of her eyes, feeling the stares of those skulking around the dilapidated buildings. The sun was starting to go down on the filthy, little port city and the wind kicked up the dirt, blowing her hair behind her wildly. She tied it haphazardly in a knot. Somewhere to her left, several shots were fired and a scream followed. No one seemed to care, she certainly didn’t.
The neon sign above the entrance to a nearby bar read "Kitsugari" – It was foreign for Foxhunt. This was the place Bishop had told her about. Newt inspected the other neon images of women with exaggerated assets. This place was obviously not the place you would want to be if you weren’t a wanted crim, or at least looking for one. Foxhunt? - She wondered who had thought of that name to call such a place.
A filthy, smelly drunk staggered out of the entrance and almost collided into her. Upon seeing her, he gave her a toothy grin, with at least whatever was left of his rotting and decayed teeth. She tilted her head at him impatiently when he leered and wiggled his tongue at her in a suggestive manner. Then she unsheathed a ten-inch blade from her belt, holding it up just as suggestively as she too wiggled her tongue.
The drunk thought better of it and quickly staggered away as quickly as his pudgy legs would carry him. Newt re-sheathed her knife and looked back up at the sign. Maybe Rothe and Bishop had been right. This was no place for a woman, or at least not one who didn't sell her assets to the filth on this planet. She realized that every man in the place would want to sample what she had, but she wasn’t going to take it. Before she changed her mind, Newt pushed the lopsided door open and stepped in.
The lounge, if you could call it that, was crowded. Every table and chair was taken. The room smelt like a cross between vomit, mildew, jet fuel and urine - it was humid and dark, except for the center of the room where brightly colored lights flashed on a raised platform. Five scantily clad women were dancing in unison at the center. They danced to the beat of loud, tasteless music – Newt couldn’t pick up exactly what the words in the song were but if they were half as disgusting as the customers in this place, she didn’t want to know - all eyes were on the women on the stage.
Until she walked in...
She eyed the staring men in the lounge. Her hands were at her sides, her fingers twitching, just itching to pull her guns out. Her Colonial Marine fatigues and uniform held no authority in a place like this, so it was just her and her guns from here on in.
She leant against a pillar near the entrance and scanned the area for lone males. There was a man sitting alone at the bar, drunk off his face – a Centurion – and defiantly not who she was looking for and the she spotted a possible. In a dark corner booth, a sole figure wearing worn snow goggles and a ripped and torn, hooded cloak over his head glanced up from his pungent, deep amber drink.

He could sense the change in the mood surrounding him. A different kind of woman to the usual trash had walked in the door. She was wearing a Colonial Marine uniform. His first thought was that some scum had recognized him and alerted the authorities. But they had sent a woman instead, a woman to do a man's job? He smiled to himself and shook his head, taking a long drag out of his cigarette.
Newt finally decided that she wasn't going to get anywhere just standing around. He was here somewhere and she needed to find him. So she slowly began to move around the perimeter of the dance floor, glancing at everyone at least once, but still never loosing eye sight of the man in the corner. After awhile she realized she wasn't sure who she was looking for, what he even looked like. It was far too dark.
The stranger in the corner booth kept his face hidden in the shadow of his cowl, but his eyes followed her every move through his night-vision goggles, which permitted him to see everything. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and on top of it, she was drop dead gorgeous. He admired her courage for walking into a place like this.
Newt stopped near the bar and surveyed the men sitting there, all of them gawking in her direction. "I'm looking for Elliot Norris!"
They all turned to look at each other and then in unison they all started laughing rather hysterically, like she had just purposefully told them an funny joke. The music continued to play, the dancers continued to dance. No one responded to her.
Newt frowned to herself. She wasn't going to get anywhere in here. But she was pissed off to no end. She approached the bar, furiously pushing an unsuspecting sole out of her way. "Vodka" – an oldie, but a goodie.
The bartender stared at her for a moment. When she put money on the bar, he poured her the shot and slid it toward her. Newt picked up the shot glass and gulped down the vodka, savoring the heat that burned down her throat. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and started to walk away from the bar.
The guy that she had earlier shoved out of her way stepped in front of her. He gave her a sneer. She stared him down, her brows knitted together in a threatening fashion. The guy stared back at her. He started to reach for his pistol.
"That's right," Newt said with disdain. "Go for the gun. I’d like to mention that before you can even take the safety off you’d have my M-73 shoved down your throat and out your ass. I haven't killed anyone in the last hour, should be fun…"
The guy decided to lower his hand and then he stepped aside.
"Smart move" she said as she winked sarcastically at the embarrassed sleaze and moved away from him, glancing back to make sure that he didn't change his mind again.
As she stalked along the edge of the dance floor, the five women continued to dance. Newt ignored them, even after one of them circled her erotically. She was going to kill Bishop for making her come down here for nothing - it was rather obvious that the man she sought was not in the place. She gave up and headed for the entrance only to see that five tall Homo-Centurions had stepped into her path, forcing her to stop in her tracks. She hated Centurions, having had one too many confrontations with them that all ended badly. For them mostly. Sighing heavily, she folded her arms and stared them down.
The one in the middle spoke first, his voice booming, even over the loud music. "You have no business here, Marine."
"Fine" she said as she unfolded her arms and started forward again, "I was just leaving anyway. Just incase you fellas didn’t notice – this place is a hole" Newt intended piss them off just enough to let her walk right through them, or over them, whatever it was going to take. But she soon saw that they weren't going to budge. These big bastards were the real deal.
And it looked like everyone else in the place knew it, she was going to get any help from any of the low-lives here. The one in the middle started walking toward her. She felt a bead of sweat roll down her brow. Newt slowly began to back away, her fingers training over to her guns. She would use them, she didn’t want to, but she would - if the need arose.
Then she backed up into a wall. She didn't have to look back to know that it was no wall, that it was another Centurion. Making it a total of six. Before she had a chance to react, the one behind her had quickly flipped her around and taken her guns from their holsters. But she wasn't about to give in that easily. She whirled around and slammed the palm of her hand into the front of the Centurion's throat. The Centurion was taken off guard and his arms flew into the air before he fell back.
Newt watched helplessly as her precious guns went sailing in opposite directions, disappearing into the crowd on either side. Dammnit! Then someone grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms down. The Centurion she had knocked down was back up on his feet and moving toward her. She pushed upward with her feet, bringing them up to slam into his face. The motion forced her holder to loosen his grip on her and she took advantage of it, turning so she was facing her attacker. She smiled and smashed both her hands into his face, she heard his nose crack and break. Her hands were throbbing with pain, but she kept fighting

The stranger watched the exchange with growing interest from his dark booth. The girl had balls that just didn't quit. But he knew she was no match for half a dozen Centurions. They'd soon overpower her no matter what moves she possessed.
Newt turned to her next attacker. When he advanced, she kicked him in the gut, only to be blindsided by another Centurion with a hard fist to her face. She went down hard on all fours. Her nose was gushing blood. The Centurion that had punched her delivered a kick into her gut and she howled in pain, now spitting up torrents of blood.
"Hey!"
Newt looked up and saw a dark clad figure standing at the edge of the dance floor. His head was covered with a cowl and he wore snow goggles. Her vision was slightly blurred from the blow to her face and she wasn't sure if the stranger was even human.
The Centurions all turned to face him.
"Now what the fuck exactly are you big bitches doing to this lady?" he asked the Centurions sarcastically – whoever this was Newt could tell immediately that they really hated Centurions.
The leader was holding Newt's head up by her hair. He abruptly released her, letting her head smash onto the floor, he lurched forward, sizing up this new opponent. "You want in on this then Sapien?"
The stranger pushed the cowl off his head and pulled off his goggles. "Yeah, I want in on this – you piece of shit."

Newt gasped in disbelief as the stranger tore his cloak off and revealed himself. It was him. It was Dwayne Hicks. She studied his features. He still looked the same, maybe a little older, his hair a little longer. But there was something else there, something she had never seen in him before. Something dark. Something deadly. Like a predator targeting his prey. Was this even him?

Hicks wanted to take out the leader, but the coward scum stepped aside and motioned for his cronies to take over. No problem. He'd just have to take out all of them. He wasn't prejudice, he just hated Centurions. Six less Centurions scum suckers in the universe wouldn't be a great loss. As he slowly moved to the center of the dance floor, the dancers quickly scattered haphazardly in every direction.
The crowd of onlookers began to place bets amongst themselves. Everyone knew what the Centurions were capable of, but most of them also knew what Elliot Norris was capable of.
None of them however knew that Elliot Norris was Dwayne Hicks. None of them knew his background. They just knew he was bad news - of the worst kind.
Hicks kept his face lowered, watching from the tops of his brooding, green eyes as the first Centurion approached. He also sensed, or perhaps smelt, one approaching from somewhere behind him. When the Centurion tried to grab him around the chest, Hicks ducked at the last second and moved behind the Centurion, wrapping his arm around his neck. He wrapped his other arm around the Centurion's head and gave a yank until the Centurion's neck snapped. The Centurion fell in a heap and Hicks stepped over him, completely forgotten.

Newt got up on her feet when she saw that the Centurions were no longer paying any attention to her. But she remained rooted to the spot, unable to take her eyes off Hicks.
The Centurion who had first approached from in front of Hicks was now coming at him head on, bending to ram him in the stomach with his head. Hicks kicked out, striking the Centurion square in the face, then rammed his elbow hard into it’s stomach. The Centurion fell to his knees with a loud thud. Hicks stepped behind the Centurion, grabbing him by the back of the neck and placed his knee on his spine. The sharp sound of the a thick spine snapping rang loud enough to be heard above the raging music. Everyone cringed. Hicks released the limp Centurion and nonchalantly smoothed the wrinkles off the sleeves of his long coat.
The Centurion leader was seething. "Kill him! Kill the fucker!"
The next Centurion advanced while another came from behind. The same ploy again. This time they attacked at the same time. One grabbed Hicks from behind while the other slammed a fist into his stomach, then a fist hard into his face. His head spun. Hicks used the Centurion behind him for leverage and he lifted himself up, wrapping his ankles around the other Centurion's neck. Another broken neck resulted. Still horizontal, Hicks spun himself in mid air out of the Centurion's grip and as he came down on his feet he heard his shoulder crack out of joint, he lunged forward and slammed his forehead against the Centurion's head. The Centurion staggered backward. These fuckers were sturdy enough – he’d give them that.
Another Centurion advanced, having produced a large double-edged saber and circled Hicks. Hicks sneered as if he was enjoying all of this, he wiped away the blood and spit coming from his mouth an nose.
The Centurion attacked, swinging the saber at Hicks, who ducked. Another swing and he ducked again. Hicks grabbed the Centurion's wrists and swung him around hard. The saber struck the Centurion he had given a concussion to, slicing his stomach open, right beside Newt. She gasped when she realized that the Centurion's thick, brown blood had splattered all over her face.
Hicks, still holding the wrists of the Centurion, dragged him toward Newt, who jumped and stepped back involuntarily. He yanked the saber from the it’s limp hands and held it out to her. "Here, put it to good use." She just stared at him, so he shoved the saber into her hand, dragged the Centurion away by the wrists and then released him. In the blink of an eye, Hicks produced a sawn off shotgun. He straddled the Centurion on the floor and holding the weapon up to its eye – and without an ounce of hesitation or remorse - he blew half it’s head away, then laid two more rounds into its chest, brown blood splattered over the entire room. When Hicks got up, he pushed the Centurion with his foot. The Centurion rolled toward a table. The occupants of the chairs surrounding the table quickly scrambled out of the way, trying to avoid being hit by the massive dead carcass.

Newt was mesmerized by the pure aggression Hicks exhibited, the brutality in the way he killed his victims. He seemed to be enjoying the battle - lusting for more blood. She had always thought of the former Colonial Marine as levelheaded, straight-laced and by the book – like how your supposed to see a father figure. She recalled that all those years ago he had been unsure of her and apprehensive about how to act, but still showed her as much affection as he knew how – she had appreciated that. At least that's how she remembered him. He had left a lasting impression on her. She had been so impressed by him when she was a kid that he was the main reason she had joined the Colonial Marines. But her last impression of him had been years ago. A lot had happened to her in all those years. A lot had obviously happened to him to make him so bloodthirsty and earnestly sought after by the authorities.

The crowd was going crazy - Hicks twirled the shotgun twice before re-sheathing it in a custom made holster on his back, he then turned to face the remaining Centurion, the leader.
Newt glanced around at the crowd. The bets were now going in Hicks' favor.
"I’m going to mess you up Sapien!" yelled the Centurion leader.
"Give it your best shot, blood trash" replied Hicks confidently, momentarily wiping the sweat and blood from his forehead with his sleeve.
The Centurion dragged two long, rusted blades out of his belt. The two of them circled, sizing each other up. The Centurion lunged at Hicks, daggers swinging. Hicks blocked each of the Centurion leader's blows with his broad, muscular arms. The Centurion backed off. Hicks smiled, motioning him forward. The Centurion rushed forward again and again Hicks blocked each of the Centurion's rapid dagger swings. One dagger went flying into the crowd, no doubt caught by an unlucky onlooker. Then the Centurion kicked out, hitting Hicks in the kneecap. The distraction was all the Centurion needed to slash with the knife and managing to slice the side of Hicks' arm. Newt was starting to feel as though Hicks was out of his depth, she had to help him – somehow.
Hicks kicked out with his left foot, knocking the Centurion off his feet, Hicks advanced on the now seemingly unarmed Centurion. He went to pull out his Shotgun when as though in slow motion the Centurion produced yet another dagger from inside his sleeve. He leapt onto his feet, the force of the body slam overpowered Hicks and threw him to the floor, Hicks was defenseless – the Centurion was in the motion of swiping the razor sharp blade across Hicks’ throat when Newt nimbly jumped to her feet and slammed the dagger Hicks had given her earlier right into the back of the Centurion's head, the end protruded out of it’s right eye. Stunned, the Centurion staggered backward and dropping his knife and lurching onto a table – Newt then proceeded to pick up Hicks’ abandoned sawn off and give the Centurion’s head a new ventilation hole – right between the eyes.

Hicks took a moment to glance down at the tear in his coat sleeve. He then looked up at Newt in absolute amazement – Fuck! this chick had balls, it kinda reminded him of someone, someone he had known a very long time ago. He looked over at the Centurion leader who was lying collapsed on top of a table, a large chuck from the middle section of his head was sprayed all over the wall behind it.

Hicks pulled himself to his feet, while being watched by the woman and the entire crowd. He turned to the Centurion gang leader and spat quite a lot of bloody mucus on it’s mutilated corpse, "Fucking Centurion shit." He ignored the cheers all around him and started walking wearily toward the bathroom. As he wiped the sweat from his face and cracked his arm back into place, he passed the Marine woman, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
Newt watched him walk away, tossing the gun aside after realizing she was still holding it. "Hicks..."
Hicks heard her call his name, his real name, but he kept walking. He pushed the door to the filthy bathroom open and disappeared inside. At first Newt was apprehensive about following him inside, she had fought all kinds of Aliens, and watched her squad fall, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to even contemplate what lay behind that door. After a minute or two she could hear the sounds of Hicks retching inside. She swung the door open and followed him in. First the smell hit her – then she got her bearings and looked around, there was a centurion passed out, possibly dead, in one of the corners, different types of fungus and algae was growing allover the walls, ceiling and floor and water was dripping down the walls and pooling on the floor – but still, that smell, she didn’t want to know what that was.
Then she spotted Hicks, he was doubled over the filthy sink, still vomiting up blood and bile. She walked a little closer to him, waiting for him to finish. He spat one last glob of blood into the sink and washed his mouth out. “Hicks…” She repeated.
Still he said nothing. He pulled something that resembled toothpaste out of his pocket – Newt wondered how often he got himself into situations like this. He proceeded to wipe a vomit covered finger on his pants and then use the it as a toothbrush. This place was really starting to make Newt sick.
Hicks turned around to face her, still wiping his teeth irritably, then nodded towards the MALE sign on the door, he wanted her to leave – obviously. Then without dignifying the attempt to ditch her with a verbal response she nodded towards two middle aged prostitutes leaning up against the opposite wall, pulling condoms from the rickety, broken old rubber dispenser.
“Look, you owe me. I saved you ass back there!” She tried to convince him. Hicks shrugged, spat onto the floor, and pushed past her.

The bartender immediately set up three shot glasses and poured the dark, pungent alcohol into them when he saw Hicks approaching. It's what he usually drank. He stepped up to the bar and picked up the first shot, downing it. He sensed her approach, even before he saw her from the corner of his eye. Shit, he could smell her coming even before she reached him.
"Dwayne Hicks," she stated rhetorically.
"Never heard of him." Hicks said huskily picked up the second shot and downed it.
"Thanks for helping me back there," said Newt, trying to start out on the right foot.
Her scent drifted into his nostrils and Hicks closed his eyes and frowned. He needed this like a hole in the head. "Look... " he started as he opened his eyes and trained them on the tag containing her name and rank. "... Lieutenant - Jorden, Its nothing personal – the less Centurion scum polluting the universe the better. And I'm not coming peacefully so you might as well just leave me the fuck alone."
Newt decided at that moment that she wasn't going to reveal who she was to him. He believed that she was here to arrest him. When he picked up the third shot, she grabbed his wrist, preventing him from bringing it to his mouth. "I'm not here to arrest you," she said.
Hicks could have broken her hand for touching him but to be honest he was just too damned tired. His eyes came up and met her electric blue ones. For a brief moment he thought he recognized something in them. Then he shook his head. He had obviously been without a woman for way too long. He pulled his wrist out of her grip and finished off the shot. "You know my real name. Why else would you be looking for me?"
"I need your help."
Hicks frowned and laughed gruffly. "The Company fucked me up the ass more than a dozen times. You think I'm stupid enough to let that happen again?" He needed to move away from her, somewhere where he couldn't smell her any longer. Her scent was making him crazy. What the hell was she thinking, walking into a place like this, smelling like that? She was an accident waiting to happen.
In this delay Newt reached up to touch her cheek where the Centurion had punched her. The skin was broken and she winced from the pain. Her fingers came back bloodied.
"Whatever it is you want from me, I can't help you. I work alone." Hicks motioned for the bartender. "I need a refill." The bartender immediately came over to pour more drink into the empty shot glasses. As an afterthought, Hicks added. "And get her some ice."
"I'm not asking you to join the Colonial Marines, Hicks. I know you're a former Marine. I read your file." The bartender handed her a rag with some ice in it, the rag looked very unclean, she placed it on her cheek, wincing in pain again.
"Well good for you. So, what does my file say?" Hicks looked up darkly and pushed one of the shot glasses toward her.
Newt accepted the shot and drank it. It made her whole head spin, but she found herself enjoying the sensation, it numbed the pain. "It says that a very long time ago you were part of a marine team before they were decimated by our bug friends. You were reported dead in an EEV crash. Another long stretch passed without any sign of your existence. It then says about 9 years ago you re-appeared and began working as an independent contractor before you took the law into your own hands. And now you're a wanted man."
He pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. Then he searched his pockets for his lighter. Where the hell was it? "Well I bet you think that’s a bit spooky don’t you Jorden – someone is dead for 250 years and then just re-appears one day?”
Newt reached into her utility belt and retrieved a lighter. She ignited it and placed the flame in front of him. "No, not at all. Because I know where you were - and how you’re back."
Hicks laughed to himself and shook his head, lighting his cigarette before the flame blew out. "Do you now? Well, you must be pretty fucking smart then, because I’m not one hundred percent sure where I was myself. But then again there’s no telling what kind of shit you people get up to."
He recalled the event that could only be described as his rebirth – the one night that started his new shithole of a life.