I hatched from a human being's chest cavity on a planet called Archeron.

Mother taught me how to kill, but a group of scientists at the space colony captured me, teaching me English, by means of brain probes and simulations.

I found religion, much to their chagrin.

My family killed just about everyone on the base. The Marines came, they fought back, and the remains of the colony was destroyed in an enormous atomic explosion.

I was then transported from there to the prison planet Fiorina 161, where several prisoners died due to my grandmother, the queen, and about a hundred flesh eating alien worms.

Following this, a man named Weyland captured me, imprisoning me in a secret military facility.

My name is Ernie Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik.

What you are reading right now are documents I and my associates have smuggled out of secured facilities. They regard the histories of my friends and acquaintances, their lives and deaths. One such story is my own.

Welcome to Rosedale Manors.

DOCUMENT ID #000741011611601

LIMITED DISTRIBUTION - DESTROY AS "FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY"

Produced by:

Damballah Project

Weyland-Yutani Ind.

Rosedale Manors Facility

Subject 2294963: "Newt"

Our examination began on an upper floor of the annex. Subject favored the room because of the sunlight, and the view of the small forest beyond. She appeared to enjoy watching the geese and little things happening along the ground from the narrow bulletproof windows, though she bears no visible set of eyes.

Subject was a small xenomorph larva, one with a tube shaped body and sharp little teeth. Its dainty limbs were occupied playing with a circa 1970's Winnie the Pooh playset. She seemed harmless, but as a precaution she had been placed behind a barrier of the same bulletproof material.

A framed picture of the Cat in the Hat hung on the wall above a toy box filled with assorted amusements. She had a flat screen TV and a little bookcase. The playset, a plastic tree with a treehouse at the top, stood on the top of a circular table, which she climbed upon to place dolls inside. Her body, although worm-like in shape, has a hard exoskeleton which allows her to easily perform this action. She silently mouthed things as she played alone.

My section of the room had a more functional and business-like design. File cabinets for case information, a computer and a desk. A ficus in the corner. The only bit of silliness on my side of the barrier was a framed picture of The Trollusk and the Hat.

Cameras and microphones had been positioned in several key locations to record the proceedings. One camera was infrared to monitor the creature's internal bodily processes.

Several puzzling things had been stated about this creature, which I attempted to clarify in this interview. I activated the recording equipment.

"Hello," I said. "My name is Doctor Robert South. What is your name?

The larva's head did not turn in my direction. She's still playing with her toys.

"Rebecca Ann Jorden. My friends call me Newt."

"Newt-" I began.

"It's Ms. Jorden to you." she interrupted.

"Right. Ms. Jorden. You speak English quite well for a xenomorph. Can you tell me a little something about that?"

She set down her doll, her eyeless face pointing at me. "I've always speaked English. Mommy and daddy taught me. "

She placed a little doll in a plastic rocking chair. "How come you don't have Pooh and the owl to complete the set?"

I had to smile, this creature was very convincing. "They got lost. It's a very old toy."

"It looks brand new to me. The color isn't even faded."

"It's been in storage for awhile," I said. "We don't get many children around here. Tell me something. How can you see?"

"I have eyes on the inside," she answered. "My shell is like the glass on cop shows. At least, up front...are you scared of me?"

The question took me aback. I had been taking notes with a pen, but the line got messed up. "I have to admit, a little. Why?"

"I can kinda see your heart beating. It's a warm spot in the middle of the cooler area."

Infrared. How fascinating! Note: I must tell maintenance to install something to prevent these creatures from sensing heat through the glass.

Honestly, I was terrified. "So you see heat?"

"Yes, but I can also read."

I heard the soft bump of a pigeon slapping against the shiny window. Our subject made a purring noise in amusement.

"I've been told that xenomorphs don't see at all," I said. "I heard they're guided by smell."

"We're called Ss'sik'chtokiwij. Whoever said that we can't see is wrong." She tilted her head. "You're wearing a blue shirt with a black tie."

This was correct. My other shirts were in the wash. "Where do you come from?"

She was playing with the toys again, not paying attention. "What?"

"Where are you from? Where is your home?"

"Planet LV 426. The Hadley's Hope colony."

Her strange little body rounded itself in sadness. "Of course it's not there anymore. It got blowed up."

In my folder was a photograph of the girl this thing identified with, a cute little plump faced girl with short length straw colored hair. I mentally debated showing it to her.

"I've seen pictures of Rebecca Jorden," I said. "Her body was in a morgue at Fiorina 161. Are you sure you're really her?"

"Are you really sure you're you?"

I wasn't sure what to make of this response. Similar lines of reasoning have been used by inmates at mental asylums.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," I said.

"I don't either. All I know is, I died, I went to heaven, and somehow I ended up in this body."

I leaned forward in my chair, thinking I had somehow stumbled upon an official alien religion. "You mean like reincarnation?"

"What's that?"

I explained the concept to her.

"That's dumb," Newt said. "What if you're wrong, and you don't get another chance?

I gave her a nod, guessing that she could see the gesture. "Apparently you did, didn't you?"

"That's different. I went to heaven and saw Jesus. He said he made a special exception, so I could help the Ss'sik'chtokiwij. He said when my task is done, I'll be able to stay with my mommy and daddy forever, with him."

She seemed genuinely saddened by this alleged exile from heaven, as if she believed every word she said. What could this creature have possibly encountered on Fiorina to produce such mental delusions?

"Ms. Jorden," I said. "How did you die?

"It happened after Ripley put me to sleep in that pod."

According to records, Ellen Ripley, sole survivor of the Nostromo incident, aided a rescue mission to Hadley's Hope. Newt, a human, was the last surviving colonist. The little girl was placed in a cryogenic pod onboard the rescue ship, Sulaco, but she didn't survive the crash that followed.

I jumped at the chance to poke a hole in her story. "I heard about that. She drowned in her pod."

"You're wrong. I didn't drown. Ernie's grandmother laid an egg in my chest. " She sighed. "But I've forgiven her for that."

The "Ernie" she refers to is Subject 78453760, an adult xenomorph who is currently working on the completion of an online seminary degree. The "grandmother", according to record, is Subject 94202227, the massive egg laying queen discovered by the scientific research division at Hadley's Hope and at Fiorina. I have explored the psychology of these two in other interviews.

"There were no signs of larva hatching from the girl's body," I said.

"Did you see the body yourself?"

I had to admit I didn't.

"Well, then you don't know. It came out of my body, I died, and then I took this thing's body. Because of Jesus."

True or not, the creature's story was internally consistent. I was impressed. "That's some story!"

"It's true." She was now snapping together gray Legos with her little claws. We had medieval themed ones set out for her, so she may have been trying to build a castle. "When can I have Big Blue back?"

Big Blue is an azure three foot tall stuffed dog, her most cherished possession. During her long hours of solitude, it has served as her only friend. She curls up against it, speaks to it, and at night she burrows into its chest cavity and sleeps within the stuffing.

The first couple nights she did this, an alarm was raised because we didn't know where she went. The department had the dog confiscated.

"I'm not sure," I said.

She set up a square perimeter of blocks on the green board that comes with the Legos. "Ernie was supposed to sew me a special pouch, like a sleeping bag. Inside him. Has she started yet? No one wants to tell me."

Subject 78453760 has a skill for sewing. She's been allowed knitting tools, but she remains under constant surveillance. Right now, she's working on the Last Supper in needlepoint. I heard nothing about a stuffed dog.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't have that information."

"Can you ask someone who does?"

The creature was surprisingly intelligent for her species. I continued to be surprised by how humanlike her thought process was. Her sense of justice, of personal entitlement, her stubbornness...

" I...I can't promise you anything," I said.

The purpose of this interview was to establish what "Newt" is capable of, militaristically speaking. The Ernie specimen proved to be something of a pacifist, so we hoped for a better military application with this one.

To this end, the staff installed sort of a protected movie screen in Newt's cell, running action movies and war films 24-7, with a few shows from the military channel thrown in for good measure. Her favorite so far appears to be Airwolf. Of course, despite all the explosions, the program generally tends to be nonviolent and wholesome. The helicopter seldom guns down soldiers on the ground.

And even then, when it came on, she often played with her back to the screen.

"What did you think about the movie last night?" I glanced at a card listing the showings. I would never let a kid watch some of these movies. "...The Expendables?

She gave me an indifferent shrug. "It was all right. I didn't like all that violence, though."

An alleged child. Hating the naughty types of films that normal kids would sneak away and watch when their parents aren't looking. This made me smile a little. "How about The Terminator? That one had robots in it."

"I guess that was okay," she said, finishing up a second Lego side wall. "Why do you keep showing me violent movies for? Why can't I watch something about wizards and princesses?"

"It's just an experiment," I said.

"I don't like this experiment. It makes it hard for me to sleep. It reminds me of that movie where they poked that guy's eyelids open with toothpicks and made him watch stuff."

Trying to complete the thought, I suggested, "A Clockwork Orange?"

"I...think. Was that the one where the dog throws up in a guy's shoe and gets put in obedience school?"

"No," I said. "That's...something else."

I later found out this was a reference to a rerun of Amazing Stories.

"Anyways, I don't like it. I don't like movies where people get all bloody and get killed. I see too much of that in real life."

I stuck with the agenda. "I'm afraid that's a fact of life. It's unavoidable. Even the bible is full of violence..."

"That's not the same thing. Jesus didn't shoot and kill people."

Impressive. Not only was I debating morality with a larval xenomorph, there was theology entering the discussion. "How did you learn about Jesus?"

"From mommy and daddy. They took me to church."

Still consistent with what she previously stated. The creature truly believed she was human in an alien body. "This was when you were human?"

"Yeah."

Human or not, it was not my job to convince her what she was. "Newt, I mean, Ms. Jorden...Do you remember that episode of NCIS we showed you? The one where Dinozo rescues Ziva from that holding cell in the desert?"

"That was kinda boring."

"I mention this because I want to know something. Say one of your friends gets kidnapped by a bad man, and they're being held prisoner in some terrible place. What would you do about it?"

Her castle had four walls now. She put a little man and a flag on the parapet. "I guess I'd...forgive them, and let them stick me in a cell in a secret military base."

It seemed even aliens had sarcasm.

"So you think we're bad people."

She shrugged. "When I see those movies, I think of killing people here to escape. But Ernie doesn't want me to, maybe Jesus doesn't either. I pray about it sometimes. Why can't I go outside? I'm tired of being cooped up indoors!"

Her thoughts seemed to bounce from one thing to another, just like a human child. I decided to address the latter question first. "I'm sorry. That's just not safe."

"I'm not going to hurt anyone. Like I said, Ernie said I shouldn't hurt people."

Her argument was convincing, but there were rules. Plus, if she ever snapped... "I'm sorry. It's not possible."

She scampered up to the glass, appearing to stare at me intently. "I saw Canada geese. Can I see Ernie?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Not yet."

"When?"

I had a sudden flashback of my son pestering me as I typed away on the computer. I shook the thought away, wondering if the creature caught its prey by convincing them to let their guard down.

"I'm sorry. I have to do what upper management tells me."

"Who is the Rook?" she blurted for no reason I could fathom.

"I'm sorry?"

"Who is the Rook? I've heard people talking about him. Or her."

I've heard a few things about this Rook indvidual, but it all seemed to be rumors and stories. For all I knew, it was just a comic book about a time traveler.

"I don't know. What are they saying?"

"They say he's going to bring your foundation to its knees."

A chill ran down my back. "What else have you heard?"

Instead of answering, she said, "I'm tired. I'm going to lay down for awhile."

That's all I got from her.

END OF FILE

DOCUMENT ID #000741011611602

Acquired property

Western Wall

Hand written item, transcribed.

Address redacted for security. Some grammatical and spelling errors corrected. Otherwise unchanged.

THIS JOURNAL BELONGS TO ELLEN SIEBERS.

IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO:

XXXX BELL ST.

DO NOT READ!

(First ten pages have been removed, possibly destroyed. Location unknown)

I saw myself in a car accident.

Literally.

Another me.

Mom was driving us back from the supermarket, and we passed the wreck.

We had the soft rock station on. It had gone to a commercial. Dad pointed, muttered something, turned the volume down. Mom slowed the brakes. We were rubbernecking.

A white Nissan had gone turtle. I don't know how it happened, but it was upside down with the roof caved in, the windows broken, everyone inside it dead.

The accident happened in front of that struggling used car business on State Avenue. The one that used to be a dry cleaners, with bars on the windows. They had a chiropractor a block down. No amount of spinal adjustments would help any of them now.

They had wrecked into a pickup. The driver of that vehicle had been sent sailing through his front windshield, his neck snapped. There was blood everywhere.

Dad said the truck had been going too fast, and it sent the other car flying. Or maybe it was the Nissan that had been going too fast.

The gray upholstered interior of my own vehicle suddenly didn't feel so safe.

A family of three had been in the other car. A girl, her mom and dad. They lay bleeding in the wreckage, not moving at all.

When I saw the girl's bloody face, I thought I was having a nightmare. She looked exactly like me!

That same face I saw every day in the mirror, on a little girl dying in an old smashed up 2008 Rogue.

Instead of a hand, I saw a claw at the end of her wrist. A bug-like appendage, like she was some kind of creature from space.

Her sightless glassy eyes seemed to stare right into my own. I ducked behind the little wall next to the car window and hyperventilated.

Ironically, Annie Lennox was on the car stereo, singing about broken glass.

As we rolled past, dad began to notice my shallow breathing. Leaning over his gray cream colored front seat, he asked, "Is everything all right, Ellie?"

I couldn't speak, I was so scared. My heart was doing all kinds of funny things, and I felt like I couldn't get enough air.

Dad's fat bearded face was filled with concern. "Ellie?"

At last, as our Honda neared the house, I managed, "I saw myself. In that accident."

"Yes, honey," he said. "It's called empathy. It's completely natural. I felt sorry for them too."

"No!" I shouted. "That dead girl! She looked exactly like me!"

To this mother only chuckled and shook her head. "Such an imagination! "

"Looks like we have another novelist on our hands," dad agreed. "Chip off the old block."

I started crying. "You don't understand!"

Mom parked the car at our house, and they both hugged me, tried to calm me down.

Dad told me there was only one me in the entire world.

I wasn't so sure.

Mom said I was traumatized by the wreck, and my imagination was going haywire. I disagreed, but didn't say so.

I stared at the blonde narrow faced woman. Afraid to look her in the eyes, I focused on her jowls, the crow's feet.

I nodded, pretending to agree, but it was an act.

I know what I saw.

There was another me out there.

She's dead.

And I want to know what happened.