Xenomorph

The distorted sound of your own breathing echoing inside your spacesuit helmet is the only reminder that you're still alive. The oxygen gauge flickers faintly in the corner of your visor, but you don't dare pay it any attention. You're completely immobile, your back and heavy life support gear pressed firmly against a structural beam striped with yellow and black hazard markings. The station's cold metal seeps through the layers of your suit, freezing your muscles, but true terror keeps you as rigid as a statue.

You can't make the slightest noise. A single brush of your armor against the corridor wall will be enough to give you away.

Because it's right there. Just around the corner. A few inches away from you.

Without warning, the massive, slick silhouette of the Xenomorph slithers out from the gloom of the adjacent corridor, stopping precisely at the edge of the wall that conceals you. Its iconic smooth, elongated skull juts forward, subtly peeking into your peripheral vision. You can see the gruesome row of mechanical, chrome-plated teeth through the golden reflection of your visor, while thick strands of viscous, acidic saliva drip continuously from its half-open jaws, hissing as they touch the metal floor just beside your boots.

One of its biomechanical claws braces itself against the lower part of the wall, tensing its muscles to move forward or turn the corner in a millisecond. The creature sniffs the thickly charged air of the deck, searching for the scent of the survivor it knows is nearby. You're so ridiculously close that, if you reached out, you'd touch its armored hide.

The ultimate predator is tracking you, and only a thin corner separates you from its jaws.