BUBOK; First thing I'm going to do when we get back is eat some decent food.
DANIEL; I've had worse than this, but I've had better too, if you know what I mean.
VIXA; Christ, you're pounding down this stuff like there's no tomorrow.
Pause.
DANIEL; I mean I like it.
BUBOK; No kidding.
DANIEL; Yeah. It grows on you.
BUBOK; It should. You know what they make this stuff out of...
DANIEL; I know what they make it out of. So what? It's food now. You're eating it.
Suddenly BUBOK grimaces.
RIPLEY; What's wrong.
BUBOK's voice strains.
VIXA; What's the matter.
BUBOK; I don't know... I'm getting cramps.
The others stare at him in alarm.
Suddenly he makes a loud groaning noise. Clutches the edge of the table with his hands. Knuckles whitening.
JDGREENFIELD; Breathe deeply.
Bubok screams.
BUBOK; Oh God, it hurts so bad. It hurts. It hurts.
(stands up)
Ooooooh.
BIZARRO; What is it. What hurts.
Bubok's face screws into a mask of agony. He falls back into his chair.
BUBOK; Ohmygooaaaahh.
A red stain.
Then a smear of blood blossoms on his chest.
The fabric of his shirt is ripped apart.
A small head the size of a man's fist pushes out.
The crew shouts in panic. Leap back from the table.
The cat spits, bolts away.
The tiny head lunges forward. Comes spurting out of Bubok's chest trailing a thick body.
Splatters fluids and blood in its wake. Lands in the middle of the dishes and food. Wriggles away while the crew scatters. Then the Alien being disappears from sight.
Bubok lies slumped in his chair. Very dead. A huge hole in his chest.
The dishes are scattered.
Food covered with blood.
VIXA; No, no, no, no, no.
BIZARRO; What was that. What the Christ was that.
DANIEL; It was growing in him the whole time and he didn't even know it.
JDGREENFIELD; It used him for an incubator.
RIPLEY; That means we've got a Troll.
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