The door opens to a side access ramp. Wind and machine thunder blast in. Ripley runs down the ramp, crossing the platform to the closed doors of a large freight elevator. She hits the open button. The doors part. In the background, the female voice of the warning system is heard.

VOICE: Attention. Emergency. All personnel must evacuate immediately. You now have fifteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance.

Ripley enters the elevator. The doors close.

INT. FREIGHT ELEVATOR: The elevator descends. Ripley crouches on the floor and loads up the grenade launcher on the M-41A. Cocks it. Setting the weapons down, she removes a flare packet from her satchel. Pulling out the six flares, she stuffs them into her pants pockets.

CLOSE-UP ON THE FLOOR READ-OUT: As the elevator descends. The level counter decreases...fifteen...fourteen...thirteen... Ripley removes her jacket and dons a battle harness directly over her T-shirt. Her eyes burn with determination that holds the gut-panic in check. She puts the bandoleer of grenades around her chest as well. Hefting the guns up by her side, she stands ready. Ripley closes her eyes and tries to calm herself. This is the most terrifying thing she has ever done. She is soaking in sweat. The voice of the warning system echoes down the tunnel again, calm and mechanical.

VOICE: Attention. Emergency. All personnel must evacuate immediately. You now have fourteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance.

Ripley primes the flamethrower. A blue flame emits by it's barrel. The lift motor whines, slowing. It hits bottom with a bump. The safety cage retracts. Slowly, expectantly, the doors part. She stands there, swiveling the weapons. Steam clouds swirl all around her.

INT. CORRIDOR: Ripley moves out of the lift, knuckles white on the rifle. She looks around. A jet of steam sprays out above, startling her. Before her is a network of pipes stretching in every direction. Some glow cherry red from heat build-up. She moves into the tunnel ahead and shoots the flame unit into the open space above her, just for precautionary measures. Continuing forward, she fires again, lighting up the tunnel, and setting a few pillars on fire in the process.

Rounding a pillar, Ripley looks back to see the elevator doors close with a bang. No turning back now. Tight on Ripley as she looks around, then down at the locator.

It beeps slowly, showing the range to it's target. A blast of energy goes off to her left causing Ripley to close her eyes for protection. Ripley moves that way, approaching a "Sub-Level 03" stairway. The bottom is obscured in mist. She sprints down the stairs, coming to a landing with an overheated red-hot pipe over it. Ducking, she moves straight on to a two-way junction. Ripley pans the locator around. The beep become faster to the right. She moves on.

INT. CATACOMBS: Ripley stops just outside the entrance to the alien-encrusted tunnel before her. Just to be on the safe side, she sends a blast of flame scorching ahead of her. Pulling out a flare, Ripley ignites it and throws the stick down. It almost disappears in the encrustation. Momentum speeds up as Ripley continues forward as fast as possible, her guns aimed straight ahead at all times. Ready for anything. Her breathing is fast and hard.

Coming to another stairwell junction, she flames straight ahead. Ripley moves around the stairs, stopping at a corner to peer around it in terror. Her breathing has become short gasps and her heart beep races, thump-thump, thump-thump, beating loudly. The locator has begun to beep faster by the second. She checks it. It's signal is louder when aimed toward a nearby descending staircase.

Ripley dashes down them. At the bottom, she quickly moves around the stairs and begins up another corridor. The locator's beeping has increased again. Stopping under a flashing yellow Klaxon, she sends a burst of flame out ahead of her. Ripley moves forward, swiveling to look everywhere.

Another flare is lit to mark the way back. Appearing out of a steam cloud, Ripley comes to a corner. She points the locator around and heads right. She run-walks along the corridor until the locator's signal has become a stream of sound.

CLOSE-UP ON LOCATOR: Showing the digital counter. It reads zero. Ripley can't believe it. Where's Newt then? She looks down. There, lying in the sticky encrustation, is the tracer watch. All hope recedes, disintegrating into mindless chaos. She grips the bracelet hard and begins to weep.