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It senses Ripley before it actually sees her.
Despite its vision being infinitely superior to that of humans, it is the familiar scent that alerts the creature to the human in its midst.
The scent grows stronger as Ripley advances.
The Xenomorph's body curls up, its tail around its tall, slender frame. There it sits in total silence and total stillness.
Waiting.
This human moves with determined precision, not unlike the alien's own kind. It can sense the measured steps, the careful stealth. Rhythms and patterns that are well known to the xenomorph.
Just as familiar as that coppery scent radiating from the human.
She is hurt.
The xenomorph can sense the adrenaline coursing through her, aside from the smell of pennies.
Underneath all that, though, there is another scent. One that the xenomorph has been encountered more times than any other in all its time alive.
Fear.
They always smell like this.
Ripley's steps come to a halt, and she pauses, scanning the environment.
She can feel the creature's presence in the same way that it is aware of hers. Even though she can't see it yet, she knows it's just as aware of her. It is waiting. They are partners in a dance that can only lead to one outcome.
She can feel her heartbeat increase and takes some shallow breaths, mentally berating herself. This is hardly her first rodeo. Still, this never gets any easier.
Nothing could prepare anybody for those things, she thinks to herself.
Her pulse is hammering in her ears as she presses her back against the cold wall. She's dressed adequately yet still shivering, despite the sheen of sweat that glistens on her brow.
"Get a grip!" she tells herself again, hands tightening around the pulse rifle, as she readies herself to use it when she has to.
It's all a question of timing with these things. Strike too fast, and you'll miss and give them the advantage. Strike too late and you're just as screwed.
She takes another couple of steps forward and stops again.
Waiting, like the creature itself.
Then, she hears it.
That sound.
It's here.
The Xenomorph glides out from its hiding place, with Ripley only five or so steps away from it.
Neither one of them moves for a couple of moments. Both of them are calculating their best options.
The Xenomorph is quicker and strikes first, its tail lashing out, knocking Ripley's feet from under her. She curses as her injured shoulder makes contact with the wall on impact.
The xenomorph senses her pain and its advantages. It lunges.
Sparks fly out from the wall.
Ripley rolls out of the way and grabs a piece of bent metal that came loose with impact, pain surging through her arm as she pulls herself up.
The creature hisses in frustration as it misses a second time.
Ripley grabs the pulse rifle and aims it at the xenomorph. As she is about to fire, the creature hisses louder, roars really, and lunges again.
This time, its talons miss her ankle by maybe a centimetre.
The rifle doesn't miss.
A deafening roar erupts from the xenomorph, and Ripley cringes, scrambling to her feet as the injury to its arm causes it to momentarily back off.
As soon as she's on her feet, Ripley realizes she's just made it even angrier, noting the way it's staring in her direction.
And growling.
"Oh shit!" she mutters, just in time for it to lash out and grab her.
It lifts her by the collar of her shirt as though she weighs nothing at all. Ripley's heart hammers faster than before, pulse thundering wildly against her neck. She grips the rifle tighter, knuckles turning bone white.
Twisting in its grip, cursing under her breath, it hits her that she's still holding the piece of metal she grabbed from the floor. Summoning all her strength, she drives it into the alien's shoulder.
The burning sensation is instant and agonizing.
Ripley screams, but stabs a third time, harder.
The creature drops her to the floor, and she lands hard on her tailbone with a wince.
Still out for blood, Ripley fires the pulse rifle at it.
She doesn't miss that time either.
The creature staggers back, clearly in pain.
The xenormorph is shocked. A human should not be able to fight and resist as easily as this one does, not against their kind. Their kind has bested man for decades. Yet this one remains undefeated.
Grudgingly, the xenomorph feels something akin to respect for this mortal.
A sentiment shared by Ripley as she regards the wounded creature awaiting its next move.
The xenomorph breaks into another run towards her, but the pulse rifle is faster.
This time, she hits it in the neck.
Another howl of pain, but it doesn't die.
Not that she expected it to.
"Don't know how to quit, huh?" Ripley asks and fires again.
It ducks, unharmed this time.
The ship's lights flicker once again - a reminder of time running out.
"Me neither," she finishes.
Their eyes meet in a long stare, but neither moves.
Two survivors.
Two predators in their own respective ways.
"I guess we're not so different after all, huh?" Ripley's voice is barely more than a whisper as she slowly retreats, stepping backwards, eyes on the xenomorph.
The xenomorph continues staring, as if considering her.
Then slowly it understands - and like her- retreats into the darkness it emerged from.
Ripley continues stepping backwards - she would never turn on it - counting down slowly from one hundred as she does.
When she reaches zero, she calls out.
She fires the rifle again, just to be sure it really has gone, that it isn't tricking her into trusting it, that it won't just bolt after her the minute she turns.
Nothing but sparks flying off the metal where the rifle hits.
Then finally, she turns and runs.
For now, she'll live to fight another day, and so will the xenomorph.
Their fight is paused, not ended, that much is guaranteed.
The outcome next time though? Nothing about that is guaranteed.