Alien Desolation

There would be no disturbance.

The civilian quietly ducked into a room, holding his breathe, the revolver clutched in his hands. A shrill hiss moved the silence. It was blood-curdling and vicious; a sure sign of impending death. The man raised the gun and clicked the safety off. He was well aware bullets were ineffective, but he held too much dignity to go down without a proper fight. A sticky translucent substance drizzled onto his shoulder. He glanced up, but darkness was the only thing to greet him as a pair of hands, black as an onyx gem, grasped him by the neck and pulled him into the air vent, slicing his throat with wicked claws, blood gushing out onto the floor below and settling indifferently on the walls. Not a soul heard his futile cries for help.

Because in space no one can hear you scream.