Let The Games Begin..

~*~*~*~*

H’tch was impressed. The little female ooman he had dismissed as a minor threat had taken out two twice its size in a matter of milliseconds. Impressive. He saw it pause and also sensed Di’Sha’s interest as the fight took another turn. Wondering why the accompanying males and lone female would allow the smallest to take the brunt they were both further surprised when the female yet again faced and attacked. The oomans it set itself on were dispatched like child’s play.

From the distance H’tch heard the snaps and cracks as the ooman female brutalised her fellow species. The elder yautja felt the stirrings of excitement. The little ooman was proficient, very able actually. The way it used its whole body, balancing on hands, to feet, using said hands, viciously almost impaling her opponants with her elbows and then its feet to inflict such damage -was- very amusing.

“H’tch! How can something so small be taking apart others of superior size so easily? I dismissed it earlier as being lucky! It is like watching a pack of hard meat tear into new cattle to be harvested, is it not?”

No, H’tch thought. Di’Sha was not immune to the prospects of this human as potential prey. Within moments the spectacle they had been both enjoying was over. The big Yautja’s both shifted in something akin to surprise bordering on pleasure when the ooman turned its attention from the fallen and began to ‘stalk’ to their location. Through they had not been given leave to hunt, a kill in defence or from being discovered was not punishable.

H’tch shifted his weight when the ooman flew at the odd wiry fence that was gate like in appearance below them and began attack it with the same fever as it had the males. Eyeing it as it fell back and took to a knee, grasping a small blade, akin to an eating knife and slashed at its own arm.

“What the Pauk is it doing, H’tch.. Cjit!”

Troubled, H’tch shifted again and controlled himself from answering Di’Sha who had clicked in alarm and asked him if he knew what the ooman was doing. The answer.. no he did not.

He was further confused when the ooman finished slashing at its arm and flung its thwei at the metal it was so intent on forcing its way through. Leaning over what was obviously some kind of support strut he hissed in alarm. Its thwei was doing something it shouldn’t. It was mimicking hard meat thwei and it had used it to weaken the defensive wall. Hissing at Di’Sha to retreat he watched as the ooman began again to attack the wall again, its way made easier by the corrosive blood rapidly eating its way through it.

Within seconds there was a sizable hole made larger by brute force. Mandibles twitching, H’tch snarled into his communicator as the pack of oomans were through the hole and were spiriting themselves away into the surrounding area. Four including the little female ooman went to the left; another two went to the right. He hissed at the implications; they were scattering and the loud ooman vocalisation pointed that they would meet up at their ship.

“H’tch.. We saw that. Its thwei, it was like hard meats? It used its thwei to escape. Right? We saw that didn’t we?”

H’tch did not reply. He was currently receiving a message from the elder of his clan, within a mere moment his orders were received and he heard various greetings being chirruped from all sides as the others of his clan zeroed in on his position. They had all seen it, a dirty ooman, the thing they referred to as ‘soft meat’ with hard meat blood.

~*~

She had heard it and she had smelled it. As she had crashed through the supposed impregnable fence, she had heard the strange bird like call again. If there had not been the sound of sirens in the distance she would of not of made a hasty get away with Johner, Vasquez, Hicks, Vriess, Hudson and co. She would of searched for it. The scent was vaguely familiar; she herself had never smelled it the quantities she was now but she felt on some level that she had smelled the musky scent before and not on this world. Running behind the frantically weaving Johner, attempting to keep him with the others she narrowed her eyes in annoyance at the sound of someone following them, a group of someone’s. Heavy footfalls. Were they the ‘Colony Rambo’s’? They were very heavy, and that scent was behind them, moving. Moving towards them.

“Vasquez!”

Sprinting past Johner and stopping in front of a panting Hudson and Vasquez, she raised a fist and circled it. The sign for incoming company - hostiles or non-hostiles. Immediately those that had been either running with, ahead of or following scattered, finding potions between or on the colony infrastructures. None of them were armed really. Johner was always packing but he was in no shape to be putting together a contraband firearm, and for once Vasquez had left her old school 9mm behind. It was up to her then.

If they were the Colony Rambo’s it would be easy to drop down in the middle of them and render them in capable of ‘breaking’ anything. She would be soft and not hurt them too badly. Eyes brightening at what seemed to be the plan, Chase half vaulted up the wall to her left, scaling it and then lying flat, watching the way they came for movement.

The communicator on her wrist vibrated softly. Keeping an eye on down below she read the screen quickly before typing ‘Danger. Stay.’ Flattening further against the metal, a decidedly alien drone trick, she again stared hard at the corridor they had just run up. Nothing moved. Nothing moved and she couldn’t hear anything but that musky scent practically bathed the area now – eluding that there were at least a few of whatever the smell preceded. What did they want? Not her humans. Fisting her hands against the metal she winced as her elongated claw like nails swiped along the surface, softly breaking the silence with a short but sharp swipe.

Closing her eyes, she could already see mother berating her for the slip. The smell, that cloying, sweet smell was getting stronger, holding back a sneeze she saw what was following them. They were almost invisible; they somehow managed to bend the light around them until all that was left were brief waves, resembling heat waves. You wouldn’t know it unless you were seriously looking for it, like she was. She counted in excess of six – there could be more at varying points of the open ceiling corridor. Open air. Looking up and focusing her gaze she quickly picked off a lone one in the distance that was climbing its way up the metal.

‘How did they track us? How can they track me?’ were the thoughts that raced through Chases’ head as the figures came closer. How could she tell the ones hiding below her vantage point to fight them if she knew they could not pin point them?

*~*~*~*~*

H’tch lead the chase, and chased they did as the Elder decreed. It was easy to track them; the multifunctional viewing screen easily tracked them on infrared. Twenty of the blooded and un-blooded had followed him, their own visors allowing them to chase their ‘prey’ down as they followed him. Turning a corner at the run, he saw the smallest of them rear up suddenly, its heat signature was incredibly faint but it was still there and fling itself against the strange ooman made barrier and race up the slick surface. His left mandible twitched in amusement. The little one was entertaining in its naivety; he, H’tch did not ever lose that which he hunted. He would enjoy hunting such an ooman if he was so permitted.

He sent a silent message via his helmet communicator and his left mandible against twitched at the responses. A small hand signal sent a lone un-blooded to the also scale the wall. Somehow that so called pathetic little ooman female saw them. It did not see them through the cloak but it saw the heat signatures that they left. He saw how it flattened itself against the ooman wall until it appeared almost blended with it. H’tch also heard the soft metallic scrape, a tell that it at least was now armed.

He watched with something akin to humor as Di’Sha began to stalk atop the wall, his attention on the cowering oomans that were underneath the one he should be watching. Would it attack? He raised his fist, fingers slaying and then fisting again and those behind him kept to a slower pace, mirroring Di’Sha’s progress along the wall. H’tch noted that he was almost on top of the ooman, either he did not see it or was not interested in the smaller one as he earlier thought.

He did not have any more time to muse as a warning shout from Di’Sha had the yautja unit all looking to his position just in time to see him tossed to the floor in front of them. His assailant seemed to fly down and land on the stunned un-blooded yautja warriors back as he got to his feet, sending him back into his face plant.

H’tch watched with a hunter’s trained eye as the little ooman wrapped itself around the fallen hunter in training, attempting to simultaneously cut off his air supply by way of throat and also restrict his movements. Effective. He would not lie either, seeing his younger sibling being attacked by a small version of the soft meat prey was amusing; it would serve as a warning to him to always expect the un-expected and to never assume that he would not face Cetanu just because something was not of his stature.

The yautja behind him hissed their displeasure at the scene, each watching with mixed feelings at the sight of one of their own being wrestled to the floor. They maintained their silence and their camouflage when the other oomans burst out from hiding, some brandishing weapons, two of them speaking loudly at the small ooman female that was busy, seemingly concentrating on separating Di’Sha’s head from his body. Nothing the young hunter in training could do seemed to shake the clawing fury that was on his back. H’tch winced in sympathy as Di’Sha flew back into the wall; and again when he was tossed in another direction. He knew enough of the ooman languages to know what the oomans comrades were busy shouting.

“Holy shit man! What the fuck is that thing..!”

“..Chasey, get outta there! Clear the shot..”

“..SHIT.. I must be seriously fucked; the kid is fighting with herself, man… Chicks..”

“..Kid, clear the shot, clear the shot damnit!”

H’tch had seen enough as Di’Sha half crumpled to the floor, the ooman swiftly letting its grip go, and swinging itself around, bringing its fists into contact. Di’Sha was hissing madly and was now raising his hands to ward off the rapid blows that were clonking against the metal helmet. A static crackle later and H’tch rolled his eyes. Di’Sha’s cloaking unit had obviously felt the oomans rage, thus giving it something to see and now really hit. He splayed his fingers, the movement sending the six experienced yautja behind him into position, and at his signal they would each target their shoulder cannons at the attempting to flee oomans; if that did not get their attention then he would give the signal to those that now flanked them to swarm.

Di’Sha was not having a good day – a Pauking ooman was hitting him harder than any of his instructors ever had, attempted to strangle him, had smashed his cloak unit and was now giving him a headache by banging its rocklike fists into his helmet. Letting out a roar, he tried to land his own blows, but the ooman being a lower life-form slithered and slunk around him, and he, a yautja, a superior being continued to hit nothing but the air around him. The worst thing was, was that H’tch, his honoured elder Mei'hswei was watching along with a continuant of blooded and un-blooded alike.

Another blow, this somehow harder than any forthcoming had him seeing stars, literally as his helmet gave under the strain of raining fury. Dazed he watched as the ooman female grabbed his left arm and dragged him forward into the path of a kick of some kind. He could hear the clicks, trills and hisses behind him and the other oomans voices raising in pitch with every single blow the smaller landed on him. Becoming angry again, he tried to trade the ooman in a show of strength, his fists against its. Instead of victory, Di’Sha got another earth shattering kick to the face. Hitting the floor, he felt as if his budding tusks had each been shattered.


“Go kid! Knock that rat fuck sonofabitch into hell, man..!”

Groggily he felt the ooman land on him and if he could of Di’Sha would of snarled at the other ooman who had been and was continuing to encourage his defeat. The ooman settled before he felt a set of sharp pressure points against his jugular. This was no Pauking ooman. No ooman could best a Yautja. No ooman moved like this one did either. This would be a dishonourable death – bested by some kind of Pyode Amedha.

~*~

Chase was also not having a good day – first she had been ordered to follow the so called ‘best of the baddest’ of the Bug Busters as they took in the town, she had been bored at each and every single foul smelling hell hole they had dragged her to, admittedly things had looked up when she took care of those that would of split Johner’s head open but then they went from bad to worse again. Her arms hurt from the haphazardly made wounds she made in order to make a quick getaway, they had been chased by invisible things and was now locked in a fight with one of the said things. It was harder to break than an alien drone.

Bigger also once its hidey device had been smashed. She had no concept of the word ‘ugly’ but it did not look anything like Hicks or Hudson even through Johner possessed a similar type of bulk. Thick cord like things hung like hair, its skin was a murky two-toned color and a strange designed helmet hid its visage. Most annoyingly, no matter how hard she hit it kept getting back up, sounding off with annoying clicks and hissing bringing that sweet smelling scent with it. Having watched it start to do an impression of Johner’s sidling earlier she had yanked on its left arm using its weight against it and smashed her foot against its head.

The emotion, when metal flew from its face and it sounded off with an almost moaning growl was most definitely satisfaction.

She was exceedingly satisfied when the hulking things body seemed to give out and it landed on its back with a comforting slap. Which led her to her current position, straddling it with her claws resting against the funny mottled skin, pressing in enough so it knew she meant what Hudson called ‘Business’. It continued to growl weakly and Chase being more irritable than normal was sorely tempted to simply give over to the side of her that was practically foaming at the mouth to plunge hands into its body, ripping it into smithereens.

She felt Vasquez come closer brandishing some kind of metal strut, raising her head she heard some strange whirring noise, a strange whirring noise that was not man made and it was coming from more than one position. Cocking her head she blinked. Six sets of three dots in some strange pyramidal state were being shone on her chest. The downed hulking thing made that odd clicking sound again. Taking a deep sniff she realised that the scent was ever so much stronger than before which meant one thing; she had been too intent on taking care of the one that was now at the mercy of her claws to notice that its friends has arrived, friends that were now shining strange things at her, things that were not just in front of her and the others but things that were also behind them.

“Kid.. What the.. FUCK.. Marked.. Hudson, to the rear, man. Shit!”

Vasquez had been watching intently to realise that what Chase had been engaged with was not something they could handle. She prided herself on always remaining frosty no matter how shit hot the situation became or could get but the way that the kid was now acting, combined with the sniper sights that were trained on her shook the supports of her frosty façade. Hudson was busy slapping sense into the still very drunk Johner while dragging him unsteadily closer to the kid and Vasquez. Panic was in his voice as he ripped out a smaller version of his trusty motion sensor. His eyes widened at it picked out at least twelve shapes surrounding them.

“Twelve. Signals clean. Forward and back. What the FUCK is that, them? FUCK.”

It took both Hudson and Vasquez a moment to realise that Chase had spoken. Her tone was as low as normal but they both heard the bite within the tone.

“Behind. Close.”

~*~

H’tch took pity on his younger brother when he heard and saw fragments of his small but well cared for tusks shatter. His younger sibling would not live down the fact that an ooman, a runty ooman female had bested him and also had the balls to threaten to rip his throat out. In seconds six shoulder canons were trained on the scrappy ooman and the signal was given to de cloak and for those at the flank to step closer, bringing the field into a bottleneck. H’tch studied the ooman in his visor as it called the others of its pack to come closer, he also noted the way it pressed whatever weapon he had against his brothers throat harder against the skin – It kept its eyes averted but somehow H’tch knew that as he was staring he in return was being stared at.

One of the other oomans was minding another that was obviously intoxicated beyond all sense, the other female was brandishing something that resembled the basic bakuub spear but it was no threat. If the order were given their cannons would tear all four to pieces via plasma hell.

He and the others received orders; to the non-yautja ear all was heard was a series of clicks, a few hisses followed by guttural sounds that seemed like words being swallowed. To a native they were being told to capture and return. The ooman ship was simultaneously being assimilated. The small female did not look like it would willingly remove itself from almost killing Di’Sha, every step H’tch took closer he could see that it would tense and half shuffle backwards, seeming to easily drag the weight of its victim with her. He called out to his brother, then.

“Di’Sha, report.”

A low thrill that was broken off when he was shaken roughly and then turned into a strangled call.

“Pauking.. Ooman.. Hulij-bpe.. Crazed female..”
A few of the older blooded gave low rumbles of mirth at the cocky un-blooded’s position. The sound stopped when a low beeping was heard. The sound was not of yautja origin, targeting scopes flew from the ooman with a yautja captive to rest on all of the oomans as they all grasped something adorning their wrists.

Vasquez was the first to comment. It was an automated signal that the A.I Call installed automatically sent when the ship was either under attack or had been compromised. Hudson, seeing the meaningful glare that was sent his way gulped and remained silent. He had no red neck hick thing to say anyhow. He was neck deep in shit already. Johner was shaking himself, slapping at Hudson’s hands and making faggot comments, either not realising their predicament or not caring; probably convinced that anything and everything could be solved depending on how much ammo you emptied into said dilemma.

Vasquez reached forward and laid a blow to the side of his head and made ready to lay another on him when he yelled and stared at her. Hudson put on his best shit-eating grin and glanced around him theatrically. It was then Johner came to the same conclusion as Hudson did earlier; neck deep in shit and by the looks of it, it was most certainly the non human kind.

“Woah..”

Johner leant over Vasquez’s shoulder down at the kid and what she was still grappling with slightly. Whatever the fuck it was, it was ugly. He was furious to also admit that it was bigger than him, making him appear like a shrimp. Fucking aliens; can an asshole not get a break? Just one and here he was no weapon, not even a stick to throw and scream ‘fetch’.

“Seriously. What the fuck, man? First we have those pet science projects on the Auriga, then we go to a dozen other shit-holes and see more and then we get another type of the same fucking shit.. What are we, man.. Cursed? Shit. Hey, are they some new present from the U.M or did we manage to piss off some outta here alien species I ain’t ever seen before?”

“Yeah man. You pissed ‘em off when you flapped your lips, pendejo.”

Vasquez nudged Chase with her foot. She was not surprised when the kid shook her head slowly, but did not answer. The thing she was holding in her deadly grip was becoming seriously pissed off at its treatment. Not that the kid gave a shit. Vasquez raised an eyebrow when the kid stopped staring at what was obviously the leader and turned to her mouthing the word ‘Boom’.

It took Vasquez a second to reconcile what the kid was asking – boom as in we’re fucked? Or Boom as in bomb and did we have any? The answer to the last was yeah. She always carried a trio of semi seismic scatter grenades. Never knew when they would come in handy and thank fuck for the fact that she, Vasquez was an anal compulsive horder. Lowering the metal bat she had been hefting she snuck her hand to her back pockets and closed her fist around two of her precious babies. Pulling them out into the yellow light she had never been so pleased to see the small egg shaped devices in her life. Keeping her voice neutral she coded the plan what she hoped what idiot speak.

“Hudson, you remember that fire fight in Cuba..? Whole forty-first divisions versus the two best battalions of the corp.? ‘member what Apone did?”

They were gonna blow their way outta this. Somehow they were going to blow a hole and hopefully take some of their nice new friends with it and then run hell bent for leather the fuck out of this. Find her a smart gun, maybe a pulse rifle, couple of grenades and then there would be a party.

~*~*~*~*~*