[Scene 50: Parker and Lambert's Death]
[Interior – Engine Storage Bay – Dim Lighting – Active Fog Layer]
The engine bay echoed with the quiet hiss of coolant lines. A dull red emergency light pulsed slowly, barely illuminating the metal crates and stacked tanks lining the space. The sound of dripping fluid echoed somewhere in the background, like the ship itself was sweating.
Alex stood behind the monitor platform, headset snug, clipboard resting on the control railing. His eyes didn't blink as the cameras rolled. He whispered into the mic.
"Scene fifty. No cuts. Full terror. Sound and fog, go."
The mist thickened across the floor, curling around Parker's boots as he crouched behind a row of crates. He held a metal pipe like a bat, sweat shining on his face, jaw tight.
"Lambert," he whispered. "Come on. Grab the oxygen."
Lambert was across the aisle, hands fumbling with two silver cylinders. Her hands shook too hard. The strap slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground.
The noise echoed.
Parker flinched. Looked up fast.
Lambert froze. Her eyes darted toward the ceiling. Her breathing was shallow, lips were trembling.
A clicking noise sounded from the shadows above. Then the scratching sound of something sharp dragging against metal.
Parker snapped his head upward.
He saw it.
The silhouette.
Long limbs. Curved head. The creature crawled from the rafters, limbs clinging to the steel support beams like it belonged there.
His voice broke the silence.
"Lambert. Run!"
She didn't move.
He stood.
"Run, dammit!"
The alien dropped.
A blur of black and shadow landed in front of her. Lambert screamed, stumbling backward. The oxygen tanks rolled across the floor with a heavy clang.
Parker charged.
He swung the pipe, full force.
The alien's tail lashed.
From the shadows, the tail, operated by two prosthetic technicians just out of frame, snapped forward in a practiced, brutal arc. It struck Parker mid-air, slamming into his ribs and launching him sideways into a fake crate wall.
He hit hard. Crashed. The pipe flew from his hand.
He grunted, coughing, already moving again, but slower now. He was dazed.
"Lambert, move!" he shouted again.
She was paralyzed. Standing there. Tears were running down her face. Shoulders shaking.
The alien tilted its head slowly toward Parker. Long, deliberate steps brought it closer. Its inner jaw twitched just beneath its fanged maw. Saliva dripped onto the floor.
Parker crawled toward his pipe, hand outstretched. Blood dripped from his mouth. He grabbed the weapon, rolled over, and raised it again.
"Come on," he whispered.
The alien lunged.
Too fast.
Parker swung, but it was too late. The creature pinned him in a single strike. Clawed fingers locked over his shoulders, holding him down. Its massive head loomed over his, mouth opening wide.
Parker thrashed beneath it.
"Go!" he screamed again, still trying to protect her. "Run, Lambert, please!"
The inner jaw slid forward.
It hissed once.
Then it fired.
The secondary jaw punched forward with a brutal crack, slamming into Parker's forehead. The prosthetic on his skull gave way with perfect timing, caving inward, a spurt of dark FX blood spraying across the camera lens.
His body jerked.
Then went limp.
The alien rose.
It turned toward Lambert.
She backed into the wall. She was crying. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her entire body trembled. Her hands were pressed against the wall as if trying to melt into it.
She stared at the alien.
It took a step closer.
She couldn't move.
The alien moved closer, step by step, fluid and deliberate like a machine designed for fear. The floor creaked beneath its weight. Its tail, long and segmented, snaked across the fog-drenched metal, slithering from the side to behind Lambert's back.
She sobbed, her body locked against the wall, chest heaving. Her fingers clawed at the surface, trying to find a way through solid steel. Her lips moved without words. Just breathless panic. Pleading. Silent.
Alex's voice came sharp in the headset.
"Camera two, low left angle. Focus on the tail. We need that silhouette coming over her shoulder. Camera four, keep a wide. Don't miss the elevation shot."
The alien's tail moved from below, between her legs, straight up to her back.
The sharp point hovered.
Lambert's head dropped forward. Her eyes shut tight. She screamed through clenched teeth, her voice breaking on the edges.
"Please..."
The tail drove forward.
A wet, sickening crack echoed through the engine bay.
The prosthetic burst from her chest. A jagged segment of the alien's tail punched clean through her body. Blood exploded across the wall behind her in a high arc. The camera caught every inch, the lens catching stray droplets in perfect focus. The impact was brutal. Immediate.
Her body jerked violently. Mouth opened. Eyes wide.
Her scream died in her throat.
FX tubing beneath her shirt hissed as a final burst of blood sprayed outward. A fragment of the tail jutted out from the center of her sternum, glistening with crimson and steam.
"Camera three, get the silhouette rising. No zoom. Let the frame hold."
After that...
"Pause. Attach the strings. Hurry!" Alex ordered. The metal panels behind Lambert moved, and two stunt men appeared, attaching the strings to Lambert's waist before moving back, placing the metal panels back.
"Alright. Resume. 3... 2... 1... Action!"
The alien lifted her.
Effortless.
Its long arms reached forward and gripped her under the shoulders. The tail retracted slightly but remained embedded. Her feet left the floor. Blood dripped down her legs in slow, heavy trails.
Lambert's lifeless eyes stared downward.
The alien lifted her up high toward the ceiling, and after 5 seconds...
Alex leaned into the mic.
"Cut."
Silence.
Then a rush of noise.
The crew let out quiet gasps. Some stepped back, stunned by the sheer intensity. Rachel stared at the monitor, hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide.
The prosthetic crew exchanged nods. Nailed it. No resets needed.
Carl wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Scarlett, watching from the sidelines, exhaled slowly. "Jesus."
Lilly, beside her, just muttered, "That's gonna haunt me forever."
Alex walked forward toward the set, nodding as he moved.
"That's the scene," he said quietly, looking up at the practical rig still holding Lambert's body. "That's our moment. Edit nothing. This stays raw. We'll just add minimum effects to make it look as real as possible. Good job."
He looked to the FX team.
"Pull her down. Get clean-up. We move to scene 51 in thirty."
...
...
[Scene 51: Dallas Enters the Air Ducts]
Interior – Maintenance Tunnels – Complete Darkness – One Light Source: Flamethrower
Alex stood before the screen. Everything has been set up.
"Scene fifty-one. Isolation terror. No music. No dialogue except comms. Just fear. And flame. Sound rolling," Alex said.
Carl's voice echoed over the speaker: "Rolling sound. Scene 51. Take one. Action."
The screen faded in from black.
Silence.
A single point of light flickered to life.
It was the flame at the end of Dallas's flamethrower. The flickering, wavering pilot light licked the air in slow motion, casting long, dancing shadows against the curved metal of the tunnel.
Everyone on the crew was quiet. Like they were holding their breath.
Because they were.
The entire set was enclosed now, a sealed rig with curved walls, no lighting except for what the camera followed. It was Dallas's point of view or nothing.
The sound of Dallas's breathing filled the tunnel. Heavy. Masked. The kind that echoed inside your skull when the walls were too close.
He moved forward. Slow. Careful.
The metal creaked beneath his boots.
He paused. The flame flickered again, revealing the condensation on the walls. His breath came faster now. Not panicked, but tight. Focused.
"Maintenance grid six," he whispered into his comm. "Still nothing."
The headset crackled. A voice returned. Faint.
Scarlett as Ripley. "Dallas. Be careful. Something's tracking movement behind you. It's fast. I think it's in there." [Secondary camera was set up in the control room, where the crew were watching two dots, one was Dallas and the other, an alien.]
Dallas turned sharply. The flame swung with him. Light stretched across the tunnel. Nothing.
"Nothing back there," he replied.
"You're not seeing what we're seeing," Ripley said. "It's right behind you. You need to move."
He took a shaky breath and kept going.
More steam hissed from a pipe overhead.
He turned another corner. Then another. The tunnel narrowed. The top of the flamethrower scraped the ceiling now. Claustrophobic. Trapped.
Dallas stopped again.
He aimed the flame ahead. Slowly scanned left. Then right.
Nothing.
Just metal and dark and silence.
Suddenly, a soft thud echoed behind him.
"Hufff!" He spun.
Nothing there.
Just empty tunnel.
He stepped back. His back hit the wall. His shoulders heaved. His grip on the flamethrower tightened.
"I can't see it. Where is it?" he whispered.
Ripley's voice came through again. "Dallas, movement's right on top of you. Get out of there. Get out now."
A screech.
Loud.
Raw.
Inhuman.
Dallas turned fast. "What the...?!"
The alien's claw slammed onto his face, his head caved in, and his body fell to the cold metal floor before he could even scream.
The flamethrower fell, and after a little flickering, it caught the sight of the alien for a flicker second...
Then... black.
The screen cut hard.
The audio hissed in static.
One beat of silence.
End scene.
"Cut."
The entire set remained dead quiet for a full five seconds before anyone dared move.
Alex took off the headset slowly.
Carl looked shaken.
Rachel exhaled. "I don't even know who has the worst death."
A few of the camera techs actually clapped quietly. The rawness of the execution had landed. It wasn't flashy. It was dread incarnate.
Alex turned to the crew.
"That's a wrap on 51. Clear the tunnel rig. Lunch time. We start in 2 hours. Next shot. The finale scene. Ripley vs the Alien."
...
Inside Scarlett's private van, the air conditioning hummed quietly. Lilly sat cross-legged on the leather couch, balancing a food container on one knee, a fork in one hand, and a cold soda on the little table. Scarlett was stretched out opposite her, legs up, shoes off, her Ripley costume peeled halfway down and tied at the waist, revealing a black tank top and a thin sheen of sweat.
A container of pasta sat open between them.
Lilly pointed at it with her fork. "How the hell can you still eat red sauce?"
Scarlett groaned as she took a bite. "Because I almost died of anxiety. My stomach needs a reward."
"You're lucky," Lilly muttered. "If I'd been the one under that alien, I'd be curled in a corner whispering Psalm 23 and dry-heaving."
"You sure you don't want to cameo?" Scarlett teased. "We've still got a backup flamethrower. I'm pretty sure Alex can come up with something."
Lilly shook her head, grinning. "No way. I like my limbs unmolested and my spine intact."
Scarlett leaned her head back, eyes closed. "I don't know how he does it, but when he is directing and explaining things to us, it's like... I don't know how to explain it, but... We don't ever do retakes. You noticed that? All the takes turn out to be perfect with zero errors. And like, we shoot long sequences just like that as if it's natural. We managed to wrap up two months of shooting in a single one."
"That's a good thing, right? Less work for both the actors, set people, and him. And maybe he knows some type of magic. But all in all, what I've seen today was just... Awesome. I can't wait to work with him," Lilly said with an excited smile. "Oh, by the way, that drool, what the hell is it?"
"No idea. You gotta ask him," Scarlett replied.
...
[Titan Clothing Division – Fabrication Wing – 12:15 PM]
Rachel left the set during lunch after she received a call from the supervisor about the new machines' arrival.
She walked briskly through the massive facility. Massive bolts of cloth sat neatly in tall stacks. Cutters hummed in clean patterns on one end while high-speed embroidery arms traced logos and trims on the other. A line of new industrial sewing machines was being installed along the far wall, their plastic covers still half-on.
The plant supervisor jogged up beside her with a clipboard. "Miss Rachel, new machines from Osaka have just finished calibration. We are running ahead of the schedule. Seventy units per hour on the eco-line. We should double our Titan Aevum output by next week."
"Good," Rachel replied, eyes already scanning numbers. "Focus on the monochrome set first. The announcement and ads will drop this weekend, then the launch will be next week. I want every store to be stocked up and have enough stock on standby."
Another worker brought over samples: cropped jackets, textured blazers, high-collar longcoats, all tagged with Titan's unmistakable branding. Rachel gave each one a quick inspection.
"Fit check these with the new fabric standards. We're not compromising just to meet demand. If I see one crooked stitch in the promo box for Paris, you know what will happen to you, right?"
The supervisor nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am."
Rachel didn't smile.
She was already moving again.
...
[Main Set – Nostromo Bay]
Alex stood near the scaffolding at the rear of the set, a protein bar halfway finished in one hand, a clipboard under his arm. The rest of the cast and crew were either grabbing food or passed out in chairs, but he was still moving.
He popped the last bite in his mouth, chewing slowly as he eyed the finale setup.
The corridor had been cleared. New panels were being rigged to simulate explosive decompression. A small rig crew was assembling the wire-pull system for Scarlett's final stunt: Ripley being nearly blown out of the airlock while battling the alien with a harpoon.
"Rig A secured," one of the stunt coordinators called out from the gantry above. "Lines are good. We've got three safe pulls. Wireframe's reinforced."
Alex walked over to check the lines. "We are still using the stage-vented cylinder for the airburst?"
"Affirmative," the FX tech answered. "Same trick we used in The Chamber short. Instant pull, high-pressure rush, no actual suction. Safe for actors. Just loud."
He nodded. "Good. We're gonna shoot it handheld. I want that panic energy."
He turned to the lighting crew. "Get me cold whites on corridor E, overhead strobes on a ten-second cycle, and flicker-pulse reds at both ends. No central light."
Then, to the prosthetics team walking in with another pack of tubing and blackened gear.
"For the ending shot. Make the alien prop look like it's melting. Burned, but alive. This is Ripley's last stand, not a clean finish. Add shoulder damage. Maybe char the tail."
They nodded and got to work without a word.
Alex turned and walked toward the upper balcony of the set where he'd mounted a second camera team. As he walked, he passed a few crew members eating boxed lunches on the catwalk. One of them lifted a sandwich in salute. Alex just gave them a slight nod.
Once up top, he stood overlooking the full bay.
One half of the studio was chaos.
The other was pure calculation.
He smiled to himself.
Then he checked his watch.
One hour until the finale shoot.
And Scarlett was going to give them the most iconic Ripley moment of all time.
He glanced down at his phone.
One unread message.
From: Rachel
Subject: Clothing Division Check-In
Message:
"Stock confirmed. Tokyo line ready. Paris fabric 85% greenlit. Lookbook going to print Friday. Back on set in thirty. Prep finale."
He replied simply:
"Perfect."
He slid the phone back in his pocket and looked down the corridor.
Soon, it would be lit up.
Soon, it would scream.
And soon, the world would remember how horror was supposed to feel.
[One hour to go.]
[Ripley vs. The Alien – Coming Up.]
---
AN: 1 more chapter to wrap up the main scenes. Then 4 days holiday with Caroline in Hawaii.
----
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[5 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]
[Early access to Brooklyn 99> 9 advance chs]
---