The corridor I needed was sealed off completely. Doors red. Shutters down. No obvious way around it. I checked a nearby terminal first, hoping for something reassuring in the logs, but all I found was confusion. Staff unsure what was happening. Systems failing. No one really in control. It read like a station that already knew it was in trouble.

Eventually I disabled the security measures. There wasn’t another viable route forward. The moment I did, there was a metallic shift above me — subtle, but unmistakable once you recognise it. I barely had time to register the sound before it dropped from the ceiling.

The Xenomorph.

It landed with control. No rush. No panic. Just deliberate movement. I slid under the nearest desk and stayed perfectly still, forcing myself not to adjust position or overcorrect the camera. Its tail moved in and out of view at the edge of my vision, slow and patient. I couldn’t tell if it genuinely hadn’t seen me or if it simply hadn’t decided I was worth the effort yet.

After a stretch of silence that felt far longer than it probably was, it moved through the doorway I had just reopened. That was when it settled in. I hadn’t cleared an obstacle. I had expanded its territory.

The Rule Becomes Real

This was the moment the Apex Predator Rule stopped being theoretical. Five deaths to it and the run ends. If I complete the station and finish the game, I win. Everything else is background noise. The humans don’t decide the outcome. The androids don’t decide the outcome. The thing in the vents does.

Narrowing the threat makes it sharper. I don’t have to fear everything equally. I just have to respect it.

The Room Beyond

The next door required another hack. I matched the symbols more carefully than usual, fully aware that the ceiling mattered just as much as the floor. When the door opened, I heard screaming before I saw anything. It was already in the room.

I stayed back and watched it move. It was quick and disturbingly controlled. There was no frenzy in the way it hunted — just intent. Then it climbed into a vent. Right above where I needed to go to progress.

For a moment I stood there weighing whether to wait or gamble. I also noticed something I hadn’t seen before: it left someone alive. I’ve watched it clear this exact room without hesitation in previous playthroughs. This time it didn’t. That unpredictability unsettled me more than the violence did.

I moved carefully after that. Another terminal. Another quiet hack. When the door shut behind me, I saw it further down the corridor. Not charging. Not searching wildly. Just present.

That felt intentional.

The Working Joes

The Working Joes were calm at first. Polite. Neutral. One instructed me to sit down and wait for assistance. I declined. Waiting has not proven to be a reliable survival strategy here.

I explained that I needed to contact the Torrens. The response was measured but unhelpful. Whether they couldn’t assist or simply wouldn’t was impossible to tell. Their tone never changes, and that makes them difficult to read.

I kept moving and eventually found something more useful than conversation: the motion tracker.

The Motion Tracker

It’s a small device, but it changes everything. For the first time, I wasn’t relying purely on sound and instinct. When it pinged behind me and I was already prepared for movement, I realised how exposed I had been before.

It doesn’t remove the fear. It just gives it structure.

The Shift

The change didn’t build gradually. It flipped.

A man panicked. I didn’t fully understand what he was trying to do, but his actions triggered something within the station’s systems — within Apollo itself. Whatever line the Working Joes had been standing behind vanished.

Their tone flattened further. Their posture shifted. The polite distance disappeared. It wasn’t random aggression. It was a response.

His decision caused it.

From that moment on, they were no longer passive obstacles. The station had reclassified the situation, and I was now part of the problem.

The Elevator

An elevator blocked the path forward, monitored by a security camera. I watched its sweep pattern carefully before slipping into a nearby room to disable it. Even after turning it off, I waited a few seconds longer than necessary. This station punishes impatience.

Calling the lift felt louder than it should have. The wait stretched. With the tracker in hand, every quiet second felt temporary.

When the doors finally closed, I caught sight of the Torrens again through the glass. Verlaine was still broadcasting for help. I don’t know who is left on this station capable of answering her.

The Xenomorph moves through the ceilings. The Working Joes control the corridors. I’m trying to survive in the narrow spaces between them.