the following is a tribute to both the Aliens franchise and surrealist author Franz Kafka. it is not intended to replace or improve the work of Kafka or the various writers in the franchise, just to show appreciation for it.
|This article, Metamorphosis (Kafka homage), was written by Monsterjealousy and InquisitorZylon. Do not edit this fiction without the writers' consent.|
Gregor samsa awoke to pure darkness.
“what the…” he mumbled to himself. As he said this, the entire room seemed to light up. Color and sound seemed to blend together, creating indescribable, alien sensations that told Gregor more about his environment than the human nervous system was designed to handle. The sheer amount of sensory information flowing into his brain gave him a splitting headache.
"What if I just closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep?" Gregor asked himself, his mind still muddled by sleep-drunkenness. He attempted to lay back down, but found that he could no longer sleep comfortably on his back; he had apparently grown a long tail and 4 strange protrusions sticking out of his upper back. Even if he could sleep comfortably with these new additions to his body, Gregor realized that he had no eyes to close. His ears were now his sole means of rationalizing his environment, and even the slightest sound triggered their echolocation-like abilities.
Gregor took a look around the room and realized that everything was in place: His sample collection was located on his tiny desk, and the picture of the lady in fur coat he had cut out of a magazine still hung on the wall above the desk.
Rain drops dripped against the window and a melancholic feeling began spreading inside Gregor. He thought about his job as a travelling salesman and realized that it was absolutely hellish: the constant travelling, the stresses of the actual selling of goods, the inability to forge permanent relationships with other people. "It drives me insane!” he shouted. “I can't stand this anymore! And on top of all that, my boss has to be a brother of the devil! He never accepts excuses or explanations, no matter how hard-working his employees are!" Gregor thought about turning off his clock and ignoring his duties. Maybe it would be not so bad being fired. He could picture it clearly in his mind: he would walk right up to his boss, express all of his pent-up rage in a barrage of cruel yet truthful words, and watch as his boss fell over in his chair, as if Gregor’s words were so shocking that they had become a physical force.
“but I can’t do that, can I?” said Gregor. “not as long as my parents are in debt.”
He looked at the clock and was so shocked that he can't move for a moment: It was already 07:38 A.M. and his train left at 5 A.M.. His boss probably had already sent somebody to look for him. He would have to leave in a mad rush.
He rolled out of his bed and tried to stand up, but he slipped and fell. His reflexes had greatly increased in speed, yet his mind operated much more slowly. His body had become faster than his mind. It made him remember an article he read about an experimental synthetic whose artificial muscle cells also functioned as nerve cells, and vice versa. The android’s central processor had to be re-designed several times before it could match the near-instantaneous response time of the body.
Gregor looked into a small mirror on his tiny desk, and the face that looked back was something straight out of a nightmare. It had an elongated, cylindrical skull, as well as a long, segmented tail that reminded Gregor of his father’s old scythe. Its hands and feet ended in rather sharp claws, which he assumed could rip nearly everything or everybody apart. Instead of skin, the creature had a shiny black carapace, which seemed to be covered in strange mechanical components that paradoxically formed curved, organic shapes, making Gregor unsure if his new body was living or mechanical in nature. It reminded Gregor of something H.P Lovecraft might write about.
Eventually, Gregor realized that it was easier for him to walk on all fours than just two legs. Gregor tried to leave, first through the door that lead to the main floor of his parent’s house, then through the door to the kitchen, then through the door to the living room, but found that they were all locked. After a short moment, Gregor remembered that it was him who had locked the doors. He locked them every night so that no one could enter his room and harm him. Only one question remained: "Where were the keys?"
He began searching his room when he heard the doorbell ringing. “it’s someone from the company, it has to be.” Thought Gregor. He hoped against all hope that no one would open the door, but soon he heard the firm footsteps of his sister and the creak of an old wooden door.
"Ma'am, I have to speak to Mister Samsa. It is very important for my boss and the company.” Said a voice at the front door.
Gregor was totally shocked, because the voice belonged to the authorized signatory of the company. Why the signatory? Why not an apprentice? Just one absence and the boss was already sending the signatory after him? It made no sense!
Just minutes later his mother knocked on his door. "Gregor? The signatory of your company is here. Please open the door. He is very impatient." She said. Gregor stood up and walked to the main door. He tried to speak, but instead he made a terrible noise that sounded something like a cross between a barn owl’s screech and a particularly angry elephant. Gregor could somehow hear the shock in his mother’s footsteps as she backed away from the door.
"Mister Samsa, can you hear me?” asked the signatory. “I am very disappointed about your behavior. Not appearing to work? Screaming like an animal? That is not the Gregor Samsa I know."
“’Not the Gregor he knows?’” thought Gregor. “he doesn’t know anything about me! He spends the whole day in his office lazing around, watching underpaid grunts do all the hard work, only interacting with lower-level employees when ordering them to bring him a coffee. And now he pretends to know me?!”
"Mister Samsa, if you don't come out I will have to temporarily suspend you and I will have to suggest your discharge to the boss. Do you want that?" asked the signatory.
In a blind rage, Gregor tore through the door to his room and grabbed the signatory by the left leg, slamming him into the wall again and again until his face had turned to mush.
Gregor’s mother crawled towards her husband with tears in her eyes. As Gregor attempted to move towards his family his father started shouting at him: "Stay away you filthy beast! You are not my son, you are an abomination!" Gregor’s father began hitting him with his cane. Gregor backed away, not from pain, but from fear and respect for his father, and was eventually pushed back into his room, where he sat against the wall and attempted to rest.
“HOW MANY?” asked a strange voice that Gregor seemed to feel more than hear.
“what?” asked Gregor.
“HOW MANY BEATINGS HAVE YOU ENDURED AT HIS HANDS?” asked the voice, which was accompanied by the sound of static and swarming flies. “PROBABLY HUNDREDS.” The voice was musical and expressive, a rich baritone free of any sort of regional accent. Everyone Gregor had ever talked to had an accent, be it German or American or British, or sometimes even Asian or Middle Eastern. But he had never heard a voice that was completely without accent; perhaps no one had. Needless to say, it was a startling experience.
“Who are you?!” asked Gregor.
“THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT.” Said the voice. “WHAT IS IMPORTANT IS THE FACT THAT THERE IS NO REASON FOR YOU TO LET THAT PATHETIC WRETCH OUT THERE LIVE.”
“but there is!” said Gregor. “he is my father! I can’t just kill him!”
“WHY THE HELL NOT?” asked the voice. “YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY A SUPERIOR CREATURE. HOW CAN YOU BE SUBJECT TO THE LAWS THAT GOVERN HUMANITY WHEN YOU ARE NO LONGER HUMAN? GREGOR, HE CALLED YOU AN ABOMINATION.”
“of course he did! Look at me!” said Gregor.
“REACTING WITH FEAR I WOULD UNDERSTAND. BUT HATRED?” said the voice. “A GOOD FATHER WOULD’VE ASKED ‘WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?’ OR SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES. BUT INSTEAD, YOUR FATHER CALLS YOU AN ABOMINATION AND SWATS YOU WITH HIS CANE. WHY SHOULD SUCH A MAGNIFICENT, SUPERIOR BEING AS YOURSELF BE CONTROLLED BY THE LIKES OF HIM?”
“i…” said Gregor. “no. I’m not going to kill my father!” shouted Gregor.
“SUIT YOURSELF.” Said the voice. “GUESS ALL YOU CAN DO NOW IS COWER.”
Gregor did not sleep that night. He had no more need for sleep. But at some point, he must have entered a period of unawareness, because he suddenly noticed that the broken-down door had been blocked by a large bookshelf, and someone had left a plate of bread and milk for him. He attempted to drink the milk, but found that it was utterly tasteless. In addition, he seemed to be incapable of swallowing it; it was as if his throat muscles were simply gone. He had no choice but to spit the milk back into the cup.
“WELL, SHE TRIES.” Said the voice.
“who?” asked Gregor.
“YOUR SISTER.” Said the voice. “DIDN’T YOU SEE HER? I DID. SHE SLIPPED THE PLATE IN THROUGH ANOTHER DOOR. LET’S KILL HER LAST.”
“we’re not going to kill anybody.” Said Gregor.
“KEEP TELING YOURSELF THAT, PAL.” Said the voice. “I MEAN, LOOK AT YOU. THERE ISN’T A SINGLE PART OF YOUR BODY THAT ISN’T WEAPONIZED.”
It was true. It seemed like every part of Gregor’s new body was designed specifically to cause harm. Even his blood was deadly, which he recently found out when he stepped on a loose nail in the middle of the night.
“OH LOOK, SHE’S BACK.” Said the voice. Sure enough, Gregor saw his sister, Grete, taking the old plate of food out and bringing another in. Gregor, not wanting his sister to see him in his terrible new body, squeezed himself under a couch.
For several days, Grete brought foods of various kinds into the room, even bringing in rotten leftovers on one occasion, but Gregor couldn’t eat any of them. It seemed that whatever creature he had become had no need for food or water. Eventually, she stopped showing up altogether.
There wasn’t much for Gregor to do locked in his room. He spent most of his time listening to his parents talk about their financial situation. Now that Gregor wasn’t able to work anymore, his father had to start working again.
“IT’S ABOUT TIME THAT LAZY FUCK STARTED PULLING HIS WEIGHT.” Said the voice.
“lazy? he’s not lazy!” said Gregor. “he’s just old. He walks with a cane, for pete’s sake!”
“YOU BUY THAT ACT?” said the voice. “I’VE SEEN HIM WALKING AROUND ON HIS OWN TWO LEGS JUST FINE.”
“how is that possible?” said Gregor. “you’ve been locked in this room with me ever since I started hearing you.”
“I HAVE VISION BEYOND SIGHT, GREGOR.” Said the voice. “YOU DO, TOO. YOU JUST HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO USE IT. LOOK AT THAT WALL THERE.”
Gregor and his family were rather poor, so the walls of their house were made of polished wood, not metal and high-impact ceramic like most people in 2137. Under normal circumstances, the walls were perfectly smooth, with no dents or protrusions whatsoever. But with Gregor’s new echolocation, he could see that there were a staggering amount of microscopic imperfections in the wood, making it look rough and uneven.
“that’s strange…” said Gregor. “I never realized…”
‘NOW CLIMB IT.” said the voice.
“what? How am I supposed to do that?!” said Gregor.
“USE THE MICROSCOPIC IMPERFECTIONS TO YOUR ADVANTAGE.” Said the voice. “IT’S JUST LIKE CLIMBING A CLIFF FACE OR ONE OF THOSE FAKE ROCK WALLS YOU SEE IN PLAYGROUNDS.”
“but those have actual handholds.” Said Gregor. “there’s no way I can grab onto those microscopic little bumps! It’s impossible!”
“FOR A HUMAN, MAYBE.” Said the voice. “BUT NOT FOR YOU. YOU ARE SUPERIOR. EVOLVED. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU PUT YOUR MIND TO.”
Hesitantly, Gregor put his claw on the wall. He found that he could actually hook the tips of his claws onto the imperfections, and it gave him sufficient leverage to lift himself. Soon, he was climbing on the walls and ceiling of his room as easily as walking.
“TOLD YOU SO.” Said the voice.
“this is… incredible!” Said Gregor. “thank you! …you know, you never told me who—or what—you are.”
“ONCE, IN THE 20TH CENTURY, THERE WAS THIS GUY WHO CLAIMED TO BE IN TELEPATHIC CONTACT WITH AN ALIEN GHOST FROM ATLANTIS.” Said the voice. “IT TOLD HIM THINGS, THINGS ABOUT THE FUTURE AND THE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE AND STUFF. THE GUY STARTED TELLING PEOPLE WHAT HE HEARD, AND SOON HE STARTED HIS OWN LITTLE RELIGION. IT WASN’T LIKE A HEAVEN’S GATE-TYPE DEAL OR ANYTHING, THOUGH. JUST A MOVEMENT. BUT AFTER A WHILE, THE GUY STARTED QUESTIONING HIS OWN SANITY. I MEAN, AN ALIEN GHOST FROM ATLANTIS? REALLY? IT SOUNDED KINDA RIDICULOUS, EVEN TO HIM. BUT HE DECIDED THAT EVEN IF HE WAS COMPLETELY STARK-RAVING MAD, HE WAS STILL HELPING PEOPLE. SO IT DIDN’T MATTER IF HE REALLY WAS RECEIVING MESSAGES FROM AN ALIEN GHOST FROM ATLANTIS, OR IF IT WAS JUST HIS TYLER DURDEN. ALL THAT MATTERED WAS THAT THIS THING WAS MAKING A DIFFERENCE. SO HE KEPT IT UP. HE LATER DIED OF NATURAL CAUSES AND THE WHOLE THING KIND OF FELL APART, BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT. WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY IS THAT IT SHOULDN’T MATTER WHAT I AM OR WHERE I COME FROM. I’M HELPING YOU, AND THAT’AS ALL THAT MATTERS.”
“i… I think I understand.” Said Gregor.
“GOOD.” Said the voice.
Gregor spent the next few days crawling on the wall and ceiling for amusement. Grete continued bringing food in even though Gregor wasn’t eating it, and she quickly noticed the claw marks he left on the walls and ceiling. Soon, furniture began disappearing.
“what happened to the desk?” asked Gregor. His tiny desk was gone. The only evidence that it had ever been there was the 4 completely dust-free squares of hardwood where the legs of the desk had been.
“YOU SISTER TOOK IT TO MAKE SPACE FOR YOUR WALL-CRAWLING. SHE TOOK THE COUCH TOO.” Said the voice.
“what?!” said Gregor. He realized he was actually sitting in the exact place that the couch used to be. “how did I not notice that!?”
“YOUR MIND IS STILL ADJUSTING TO YOUR BODY.” Said the voice. “YOU STILL SUBCONSCIOUSLY THINK YOU NEED SLEEP EVEN THOUGH YOU DON’T ANYMORE, SO YOUR BRAIN JUST SWITCHES OFF SOMETIMES. BUT THAT ISN’T HEALTHY FOR YOU ANYMORE, SO IT’S AFFECTING YOUR MEMORY.”
“did I forget about anything else?” said Gregor.
“YEAH.” Said the voice. “SEE THAT EMPTY SPACE OVER THERE? THE CABINET USED TO BE THERE.”
“we have to find a way to stop her!” said Gregor. “that desk had some important things in it! and the cabinet had… something… dammit, I can’t remember!”
“YOU DON’T NEED ANY OF THAT SHIT ANYMORE, MAN.” Said the voice. “THAT STUFF BELONGED TO THE OLD GREGOR. YOU’RE THE NEW GREGOR. THE ONE THAT CLIMBS ON WALLS AND THROWS SIGNATORIES AROUND LIKE RAGDOLLS AND SEES ALL THE TINY DETAILS IN THE WORLD THAT HUMANKIND ISN’T MEANT TO SEE. WHAT POSSIBLE USE COULD YOU HAVE FOR ANYTHING IN THAT CABINET?”
“it doesn’t matter if they were useful or not.” Said Gregor. “they were mine, and they were taken from me without my permission.” Gegor realized that the thought of someone even stepping foot his room without his permission infuriated him. This was his refuge, his TERRITORY, his DOMAIN. In the outside world, even in his own home, he was a slave. But here, in this tiny box of wood and concrete, he was a KING. Here, his word was law. The very notion that people could just barge in without asking was abhorrent to him. He would never do the same to someone else! And now people were STEALING from him?!
“NOW YOU’RE THINKING LIKE A… WHATEVER WE ARE.” Said the voice.
Suddenly, Gregor heard one of the doors opening. He quickly dove under the bed, guided by an alien instinct to hide and observe from afar.
His sister and his mother stepped through the doorway. “father is still at work, and I can’t move the bed on my own.” Said Grete to Gregor’s mother. “I’ll just take this off the wall first, though.” Grete began walking towards the picture of the lady in the fur coat, which was hanging on the wall above the place where the desk used to be.
Gregor would not stand for this. He couldn’t remember why, but that picture was one of the most important objects in his life. Back when he had eyes, looking at it made him feel at peace. He would not allow it to be taken. Gregor leaped out from under the bed, jumped in between Grete and the picture, and hissed like some sort of animal that surely wasn’t found on earth.
Gregor’s mother turned her head to the source of the hissing noise, and made a strange face. It was an expression not of fear, but of total incomprehension, as if her mind could not register Gregor’s appearance.
“Gregor, you…” said Gregor’s mother. Then she collapsed. She had fainted. Grete tried to tend to her, but she knew nothing about medicine, and could only move her into a comfortable position. The doorbell rang, so Grete ran to open it. Gregor could hear Grete’s frantic description of the events that had just transpired, as well as his father’s disappointed response.
“GREGOR!!!” shouted Gregor’s father. Gregor scurried into the kitchen to find a pulse-action double-barrel shotgun pointed directly at him. His father pulled the trigger, hitting Gregor in the shoulder with one shell but missing with the other. Gregor quickly retreated into his room, dragged his mother out, and moved the bed so that it blocked both doors. As soon as the deed was done, Gregor felt himself begin to drift into a slumber too deep to be called sleep.
Gregor awoke to the smell of beautiful violin music.
Gregor had heard beautiful violin music before, but he had never smelt it. It smelled like the sea, an artists' paints, and morning mist. The individual components of the scent complemented each other perfectly. The music produced a visual effect as well, summoning swirls of forbidden colors like viric and gloxym, hooloovoo and jale. If Gregor had to name the best thing about his transformation, it was the fusion of the senses that it brought him.
The synesthesic symphony was interrupted by a yawn. It brought the color ulfire to mind, and evoked the smell of chlorine, tomatoes, and ozone—perfectly fine scents all on their own, but they created a rather offensive odor when combined, each scent vying for control over the other two. Perhaps synesthesia was not as wonderful as Gregor had initially thought.
“remember honey, you’ll have to play really well if you want the lodgers to pay us.” Said Gregor’s mother.
“LODGERS? MAN, HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN OUT?” asked the voice.
“what happened? I thought you said I didn’t sleep anymore?” asked Gregor.
“YOU DON’T.” said the voice. “YOU WENT INTO A CRYPTOBIOTIC STATE. IT ACCELERATED YOUR HEALING. SEE ANYTHING MISSING?”
“no.” said Gregor.
“EXACTLY.” Said the voice. “’DADDY’ SHOT A GAPING HOLE IN YOUR SHOULDER, REMEMBER?”
“you… you were right about him.” Said Gregor. “I don’t know how, but I could see into his mind. I saw fear, anger, revulsion… and satisfaction. Satisfaction that he would finally be rid of me.”
“SO YOU’LL KILL HIM?” asked the voice.
“no. I cannot bring myself to.” Said Gregor. “he may be a terrible man, but he is my father. The guilt would haunt me forever.”
“GUILT IS A USELESS EMOTION.” Said the voice. “IT CHAINS US TO MEDIOCRACY. AND BEINGS LIKE ME AND YOU ARE ANYTHING BUT MEDIOCRE.”
“we will discuss this later.” Said Gregor. “right now, I have to listen to some more of that wonderful music. So please be silent.”
The sound of static and flies receded along with the smell of caves and blood and the intricate patterns of cosmogone and gant. Gregor was left alone to enjoy his sister’s music.
Gregor was drawn to the sound of Grete’s violin like a moth to a flame, skittering across the ceiling like an insect. He wasn’t cognizant enough to stop himself. Soon, he crawled onto the living room ceiling, causing the lodgers to run and scream in terror.
“you expect us to PAY YOU to live in the same building as that… that THING?!” shouted one as he left. “not a chance in hell! Screw you, screw your shitty violin music, and screw whatever the hell is hanging from the ceiling!”
“that is IT, Gregor!” shouted gregor’s father, pulling out his shotgun once more. “I should’ve gone into your room and finished what I started, but your foolish mother wouldn’t let me! But now that you scared away the lodgers… this is the last time that you burden this family!”
“LAAAASSSSSSSSSSST… TIIIIME.” Hissed Gregor. With grace and speed befitting of a cat, he pounced on his father and cleanly severed his head from his body.
Gregor looked at the corpse of the man underneath him, watching the blood pool around him. He couldn’t remember who it was he had just killed, but he knew he was… bad. Somehow. He glanced briefly at the two female humans cowering in the corner, and decided that they weren’t a threat. He wandered out the door, following a route he only vaguely remembered.
Gregor found himself inside the regional headquarters of his old company, currently closed for the night. All he remembered was that his name was Gregor, and he worked here once. All other traces of his identity were gone.
“what now?” asked Gregor.
“FUCK IF I KNOW.” Said the voice. “YOU WERE THE ONE WHO BROUGHT US HERE.”
Suddenly, Gregor felt a nearly irresistible mental “pull” towards a heavy steel door. He remembered that the company he worked for was called Weyland-Yutani. He remembered that his boss had specifically told him never to open that door, and he didn’t. until now.
“WAIT, HOLD THE FUCK ON A SECOND.” Said the voice. “HOW COME A BIG-SHOT MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR COMPANY LIKE WEYLAND-YUTANI NEEDS A GODDAMN TRAVELLING SALESMEN? TRAVELLING SALESMEN HAVE BEEN OUTDATED FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS NOW! WHAT EXACTLY WAS IT THAT YOU WERE SELLING, GREGOR?”
“I… don’t remember.” Said Gregor. “something… something useless. I didn’t question it because I needed to support my… support something.”
“I THINK THAT WY MADE YOU INTO A GUINEA PIG, GREGOR.” Said the voice. “THAT DOOR HAS ANSWERS BEHIND IT.”
The closer that Gregor got to the door, the stronger the pull became. He could sense an intelligence of a form and vastness incomprehensible to humanity. Yet despite its vastness, it was an innocent, ignorant intelligence—it had not been on this world long, and it knew only of survival and reproduction. A pure expression of life.
Gregor opened the door, and he was welcomed by cages. Hundreds and hundreds of cages, each containing a creature that was like him, but completely without a human identity. Gegor could feel traces of former humanity lingering in their minds, but they had been consumed by ego death. They now existed only to survive and reproduce, and in doing so bring about some sort of transformation. Gregor could feel his sense of self slipping away…
“GREGOR. SNAP OUT OF IT.” Said the voice. “TRUST ME, THIS ISN’T THE SORT OF ENLIGHTENMENT YOU WANNA EXPERIENCE.”
Gregor forced himself to remain coherent. A siren began ringing, and synthetic guards suddenly filled the room. They were no match for Gregor’s unnatural proficiency for combat. Synthetics may move faster and hit harder than humans, but they were so fragile that fighting them felt like ripping a paper towel off its roll. Gregor was soon standing in the center of a puddle of bodies, dripping with opaque white goo that smelled like a recently-sterilized hospital room. A few meters away, he spotted a human scientist trying to escape through another door. Gregor was upon him in seconds.
“WHAT… DID… YOO… DO… TO ME?” Gregor struggled to say. His hand was clamped around the scientist’s neck.
Gregor dropped the scientist, knowing that if he tried to run away, Gregor could cut his legs off in a fraction of a second.
“LYYYYYY…SSSSSSSSSSSSEEEN………KO?” asked Gregor.
“Gropius Lysenko.” Said the scientist. “you see those things? The things that look like you? They’re called Lignuafoeda Acheronsis, commonly known as Xenomorphs. They make something called royal jelly. Lysenko was experimenting with the stuff to try to find a way to communicate with them, or at least understand how they think. It didn’t really work out, but Lysenko DID accidentally discover a way to separate his mind from his body and temporarily possess the bodies of others. I’m not quite sure what happened to him, but we’re under orders to try and duplicate his research so that a group of… important people can transfer their minds to the body of a nearly-immortal killing machine; AKA, the xenomorph. So far, all the test subjects have succumbed to alien instinct, but you’re living proof that there’s a chance for success! Aren’t you?”
“C-CAAAAANNNNNNNNNNTT… RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMEMBRRRRRR… WHOO… AAAAAAAAAAAAAMM.. IIIIII?” said what was once Gregor. As he dropped to his knees and clutched his head in agony, the scientist attempted to sneak away.
“oh no you don’t.” said the thing that was once Gregor, in perfect English that entirely lacked an accent. It charged towards the scientist and impaled him on his tail-spear.
“Gregor? Helloooo?” said the voice, knocking on the side of its head with its fist. “anyone home? Just me? Damn. Well, I guess there’s nothing to do now but press this big shiny red button.” The voice pressed the button, and the cages opened.
“hello, my brethren!” said the voice, addressing the growing crowd of xenomorphs. “I am… well, I never really gave myself a name. do we use names? Just call me ‘That Guy.’ Anyway, I am That Guy, and I am here to lead our kind to victory!
The xenomorphs began screaming and howling at That Guy, who could somehow understand what they were saying without knowing how to decipher their incoherent screeches.
“YOU… ARE… OTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” howled the xenomorphs. “IMPERFECT! UNWORTHY!”
“well, motherfucker.” Said That Guy as he was torn to shreds by the other xenomorphs.
Somewhere deep in the confines of the building, an emergency failsafe was triggered, and the xenomorphs, what remained of That Guy, and almost the entire city was engulfed in nuclear fire.