<strong>Nathan</strong><br/>(http://nightshade01.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/david_tennant_09.jpg)<br/><br/>++++<br/><br/>For the second time in as days, the readout on the last working console in the lab blinked, coming silently to life.<br/><br/>...Incoming Craft<br/>...Incoming Craft<br/>Preliminary Designation: Colonial Marine, Dropship, Light<br/>Designation Certainty: 96%<br/><br/><br/>Nathan stares at the blinking screen for a moment, his expression disbelieving. The marines were dropping a second wave? He had listened to the first dropship come down, trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it. He had a shot, but they were far away - he'd have to make it to the colony, on foot. And while the xenomorphs didn't seem to care for daylight, they had no problem with the twilight of the research complex's largely failed power systems. On occasion you could hear their claws, clicking along some vent or hallway. Patrolling, hunting, or who knows what. He would never have made that run.<br/><br/>But this second group was much closer. He might have a shot. At getting to them. At getting out of here alive. They'd be using motion detectors, they could pick him up...<br/><br/>He begins checking over the few supplies his has in his impromptu fortress. A pistol he grabbed from the weapons lab at some point, some basic lab safety gear working as armor, portable surgery kit and...a radio. He had almost forgotten about it - talking was a good way to draw attention, and in turn a good way to get yourself killed. But you didn't<em>have</em>to talk.<br/><br/>The sound of the Marine's breach echoes in the empty halls, and he begins rapidly clicking and releasing the "Push to Talk" button on the radio. Three short, three long, three short, three long...<br/><br/><em>SOS</em><br/>