Predator: SVU

Title: Predator: SVU

Author: Prairiefire

Chapter: Four: Stalking the Hunter

Fandom: Predator AU

Rating: M/R

Warnings: Adult Situations, Controversial Subject Material, Graphic Violence/Gore, Rape, Sexual Situations

Orientation: Het

Pairings: Human Female/Male Predator, Female Predator/Male Predator

Summary: Two hunters separated by species and lightyears are about to team up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Predator, nor do I make earn any monetary compensation for the stories I write that feature such characters. However, all my original characters are just that, original. That makes them mine, and they cannot be used without my express written permission.

Feedback: Please. I will respond to all signed reviews on ffn, aff

Word Count: 3358

Al’brk’vix watched the other yautja from the roof top of a nearby house. Having tracked the so called ultimate hunter for several days he was torn between being less than impressed with the tracker’s skills or pleased that the cloaking shield he had improved was working so well. He had even had Wrk’va test it a couple times. The dim warrior had come within a hair’s breath of the Arbitrator. The big oaf almost blew it when he stumbled on something and nearly fell on top of Vek’rin’ka.

The heavy footsteps alerted Vek’rin’ka to another presence on the rooftop. He spun around snarling. Checking himself when he saw no one, he cycled through the vision modes on his mask. Nothing registered, but Vek’rin’ka could have sworn someone had managed to sneak up on the roof with him.

When Al’brk’vix had met up with Wrk’va back at the ship he had soundly thrashed him for being so clumsy. Thereafter, Wrk’va had been forbidden from touching anything that Al’brk’vix was working on. After that proclamation he had summarily ignored Wrk’va.

After the near catastrophe with the new cloak Al’brk’vix started to use it to track his own tracker. He had expected Vek’rin’ka to be devoting all his time to tracking his quarry. Instead, he found the Arbitrator following an ooman around.

Al’brk’vix originally wanted to find Vek’rin’ka and quickly deliver a white hot package to his head. However, Vek’rin’ka’s intense scrutiny of the ooman made him change his mind. The ooman could be useful. He could use it to play a game with Vek’rin’ka. And Al’brk’vix loved nothing more than a game, especially one involving death.

Without the intention of killing Vek’rin’ka at the moment Al’brk’vix felt it would be prudent to slip away from his target. As he traversed the many roof tops and hard packed paths between the residential area that he had been hunting in lately he contemplated how to use the ooman against Vek’rin’ka. He had observed the child, but even he was not stupid enough to mess with an attentive mother’s offspring. To do that would be to risk not only having an angry Arbitrator after him but a bereaved mother as well. And there is nothing in this universe more dangerous than a mother who has just lost her child.

Al’brk’vix soon found himself at the waterfront. Frustrated with not being able to think of a plan to finish Vek’rin’ka off Al’brk’vix began to prowl.

The area was pretty much deserted. The only regular inhabitants were the homeless. Though not very challenging to kill Al’brk’vix did not care. It was not the challenge or the honor that drove him to hunt. His motivation was the power over another being’s life and the lust for the kill itself. The splatter of his victim’s blood over his body and face was something that intoxicated him although he only got that close to his victims if they were weak or had already been incapacitated.

The people Al’brk’vix was stalking now would not put up a great struggle but they would be entertaining. He dropped in behind an ooman in tattered clothes. Briefly pausing before delivering his killing blow he savored the moment. He heard its mumblings, but there was no fear. She must not have realized what was behind her Al’brk’vix concluded. Reaching out with his hand he grabbed her by the back of the neck and deftly snapped her spine with two of his fingers.

Feeling no exhilaration from the kill, Al’brk’vix was disappointed. He received no rush because his victim did not see him. She never knew what happened and she did not die with fear in her heart. Turning away he left the body where he dropped it.

Deciding to play with his next victim Al’brk’vix set off to find a target. The area was mostly empty of prey. The next few oomans he found were unconscious. The smell of spirited drinks signaled to him that the condition was self-inflicted.

As the sun began to sink Al’brk’bix was beset by a pack of domesticated canines. There were six members to the pack ranging from medium to large in size. Angered and frightened by the intrusion into their territory all six dogs attacked the hunter.

The battle was quick, bloody, and all together one sided. Teeth snapped like steel traps, blades sliced through the air and fur flew in all directions. Blood splattered the walls of the alley. The seven bodies danced in a deadly tango. Within minutes the corpses of the six dogs were lay on the ground. The carcasses leaked blood, and in some instances viscera, on the paved ground.

Collecting only the skull of the alpha male of the pack Al’brk’vix continued on. The copper smell of lots of blood filled the air as he though about the hunting he had done in this area. He briefly puzzled over the disappearances of his kills. He had not noticed the bodies being removed by other humans, and they certainly would have swarmed the area to investigate the large number of dead bodies he and his pack had left hanging in the area. The rate of the removal intrigued him too. There were usually removed within a day, no matter where they were left. Someone must be scouting the entire area everyday to find them.

Soon after his fight with the stray pack Al’brk’vix found a male ooman who was not as intoxicated as most of the other ooman inhabiting the area. Starting his game Al’brk’vix jumped out in front of the man. Startled by the thump in front of him when he couldn’t see what made it the man backed away and looked at the paper bag holding his cheap whiskey thinking maybe he had had enough for the night. Letting the cloak disengage Al’brk’vix let the homeless drunk see him. The man froze in horror at the sight before him.

In front of him stood a 6’8” man like creature. It possessed armor across its shoulders and around its waist. Both wrists sported metal and leather gauntlets. There was something that looked like the barrel of a gun sitting on its shoulder. The entire body was covered in a fish net type garment. What skin that could be seen was of a pale creamy color, dime sized spots of brown could be seen on the skin. Whether it was natural or artificial the wino would never know. The mask was the most ominous part of the thing. It was devoid of any expression everywhere except the eyes. The coal black lenses seemed to peer into a person’s very soul with immeasurable hatred and malice.

A stationary target was not what Al’brk’vix wanted. After a moment’s scrutiny he lunged at the man. Petrified, the man stumbled back while he turned to run. Snarling this time Al’brk’vix lunged again and extended his ki’cit-pa. This enticed the man to run faster.

Snickering to himself, Al cloaked and followed his prey. The man ran for several minutes watching over his shoulder for his pursuer. He had no chance of spotting the chaser who nimbly leapt across the roofs above his head. As the man slowed, sensing he was out of danger, Al’brk’vix scaled down to the alleyway. Stalking up behind the man Al’brk’vix dropped his shift suit. The crackling of electricity alerted the man to the presence behind him. He turned slightly and was greeted with the sight of that familiar visage and weapon poised over his neck.

The man yelped in surprise as Al’brk’vix feinted another lunge. The man sprinted away as Al’brk’vix clattered a laugh and reengaged his camouflage to began the chase again.

For hours Al’brk’vix continued this game. It was not until well into the night that he grew bored and finally ended the man’s torment.

Al’brk’vix hoisted his bloody trophy high in the air as he roared his victory. Blood from the dismembered skull and spine ran down his arm to join the rest on the victor’s armor and body. He ended his jubilation shortly when he attached his new skull to his back and started his search for Vek’rin’ka again. The idiot, Wrk’va, could take care of himself for all he cared.

Hidden Inside a Warehouse

Burns looked up as a roar was heard through the empty warehouse. Turning back to his diminutive captive he spoke, “That was a mighty big gale off the ocean.”

The little girl merely whimpered and continued looking away from her captor. Fresh tears streamed down her face as the man reached out his hand to turn her head to look at him.

“Come on sweetie. There’s nothing to be scared of here,” Burns said to the little girl. “I love you.”

The little girl sniffled and would still not meet his gaze. The duct tape and hand cuffs had been removed soon after the man had taken her picture. Reaching up with her own hand she wiped away her own tears.

“Oh sweetie, now that is better. Here, I have something special for you. A special dinner,” Burns cooed at the girl. From a large duffle bag he brought out a familiar looking paper bag. The red-haired clown smiled at the girl but she felt no joy or happiness. When handed the bag she merely put it on the floor and would not touch it.

“You must be hungry, kids like this. Here,” Burns said as he pulled out the yellow wrapped cheeseburger. “Take a bite. You’ll feel better.”

The little girl still refused to touch the food. The smell of the food made her stomach growl audibly but still she refused to touch it. She wasn’t supposed to take food from strangers and it wasn’t the right day to eat restaurant food.

Burns was becoming irritated with this one already. She should be grateful that someone loved her enough to bring her such a special dinner. Suppressing the anger that welled up within him he reached into the bag. He had another idea to engage his new playmate.

Burns pulled the small toy out of the bag. Wrapped in plastic the small doll was really not worth the money that the restaurant charged for them. Still, a toy was a toy. All the other girls had accepted them. This time it was a small doll with neon green hair that stood straight up. The label on the package called it “Mossy the Troll.”

“How about we play with this?” Burns asked. “Do you want it?” He held the small toy out to the girl.

The girl stiffened as Burns drew closer. The toy was held near her as Burns knelt close to her. In a sudden flurry of motion that startled Burns the girl hit the toy away. Clamping her hands over her ears the she started to scream.

“I WANT MY MOMMY AND DADDY. I WANT MY MOMMY. I WANT MY MOMMY,” she chanted as she rocked herself back and forth. Her hands were tiny fists against her ears and new tears rolled from her eyes.

“God Dammit you little bitch,” Burns yelled back at her. “Your mommy and daddy don’t love you any more. That’s why they’re not here. I LOVE YOU. And THIS is how you repay me.” Before either of them knew it Burns had pulled back his hand and slapped her across the face.

The girl was sent sprawling onto the floor. A red hand print on her cheek already promised a bruise later. Burns stopped himself when he realized what had just done. If he didn’t control his temper now he will not be able to have fun with the little girl after he deals with the detective broad. Quickly moving away Burns grabbed his duffle bag and pulled the hand cuffs back out.

Striding over to the disoriented girl he roughly pulled her wrists to him. Once the cuffs were snapped closed he then dragged her over to a vertical support column and attached the waiting chain to the cuffs. Leaving the shivering girl he quickly moved to the other side of the building. He didn’t want to play with his toy now, not when she was like this anyway.

The little girl curled up and continued to cry. She knew that the words the man spoke were not true. Her parents loved her, but those words still stung. She cried until she was too tired to do anything but hiccup. Eventually she fell asleep on the bare concrete floor still trembling and hiccupping sobs. Exhaustion finally released her temporarily from her situation but her dreams served as a reminder that she was still not safe.

Conference Room of Cach’s Headquarters

The dark suited men sat around a long wooden table. The discussion was secret and all the men displayed the arrogance that came with knowing something no one else did. At the head of the impressive table stood “Cach.” He ran the meeting with military precision and directness.

“Have there been any newly reported bodies,” Cach addressed one man.

“None today sir. We managed to fit the emergency and non-emergency police lines with a router through this office. If any thing is reported we’ll be the first ones there. And a virus has been planted in their computer system so any information put in will be erased.”

“Do the local police have any idea what is happening?” Cach asked.

“No sir. No information has fallen into their hands. These creatures are sure helping though,” replied the same man.

“How so?” Cach inquired.

“They seem to be only taking people no one will miss. A few gang bangers here, and alley full of bums there,” replied another suited man. “Our sweeper teams have been finding the bodies and discreetly removing them before they are found by anyone who would report them.”

“Good,” Cach said as he turned to another man. “How are those pheromone tracking stations working?”

“Most are performing better than expected,” responded the man. “There are over 2,000 units in place all over the city and more will be put up shortly. The units near the waterfront are having some trouble with the salt in the air clogging the filters. We are working on a solution to that and in the mean time we are simply changing the filters more frequently.”

“Good. So what are they showing us about the creature’s movements,” questioned Cach.

“Well, there is definitely more than one of them here this time,” the lone woman of the group volunteered. “Multiple signatures at multiple stations at the same general time. A group of them seem to be concentrated near the waterfront warehouses. One or two will move farther into the city every so often, but will fall back to the same general area. There is another signature that has only met up with the group once. As far as we can tell, at least two individuals of the original group disappeared at the meeting. We don’t know for certain, but we suspect that they were killed.”

“Hmmm,” pondered Cach, “This could mean serious problems. Do we know exactly where this meeting took place?”

“Yes, sir,” the first man volunteered. “Near Metro Miami Park. On the roof of a building adjacent to the park. We tried to get agents in there but there was a crime scene going and lots of media. We couldn’t examine the area without being noticed and by the time we got there, there was nothing left to be found.”

The sole female occupant of the room spoke up again, “This visit isn’t like any of the others that have been documented.”

“How so?” Cach demanded.

“With the information gathered from the survivor of the Antarctica incident we have determined that these aliens have rules they hunt by. The events in Central America, New York, and LA fit that profile. Women and children left alone. Everyone killed was armed. Rules that would even out the playing field. We are not seeing that here. Even the Russian crash was not as ‘out-of-the-ordinary’ as this.”

“What are you suggesting,” Cash said growing impatient.

“What I am suggesting,” said the woman, “is that this is not a typical visit. The victim profile includes both unarmed homeless people, men and women, and armed gang members. I believe that the location of the center of the activity is the only reason there haven’t been more higher profile killings. We’re kind of lucky in that respect. We might not be able to maintain out cover if these aliens started killing people who would be missed immediately. Sir, I think we have a rouge.”

The news did not sit well with Cach, but he would not let his apprehension be seen by his underlings. “What about this other signature? The loner,” Cach asked.

“We haven’t connected any of the recent killings to it,” a behaviorist said. “It isn’t traveling with the others and there have been no bodies found in the area around the stations that it’s been near alone. We believe that it is tracking the other group. Maybe their own policing system.”

“Where has it been,” Cach dug sensing that this should be their target. If it was distracted tracking its own kind it may not be paying enough attention to what the humans were doing about its presence.

“Well, it was at that crime scene, and then showed up on the station by a police precinct. This morning it was recorded in a residential neighborhood in the northern end of the city before it was picked up by one of the perimeter stations as it left the city.”

Cach thought for a moment before speaking again, “So it is possible this one is tracking a cop as well as the other group.”

A sarcastic snort erupted from a man who had yet to say anything, “Like we haven’t seen that before.”

Glaring at the man Cach redirected the attendants’ attention, “What cop was in charge of that crime scene. We could use him if this hunter is really tracking him.”

“Two detectives were in charge of the investigation. Point man, or should I say woman, is a Detective Cassandra Hadley, and her partner Detective Gerold MacKenzie.”

Cach’s eyes lit up at the information. His in-town girl being tracked by the thing he is tracking could have been a Christmas present to him. An evil smile spread across his face. His bait was already on the hook, all he had to do was reel it in. That is if the alien wasn’t tracking her partner. These things hadn’t been known to track or hunt women before, but it was unlikely that it would be hunting that fat partner of Hadley’s. Cach, however, wanted to know for sure before planning anything.

“What neighborhood was it recorded in,” Cach demanded.

“It was recorded on one of the stations placed in the ball fields on Queen St,” someone in the room said.

“Christ,” exclaimed Cach.

“What,” half the room asked at the sudden curse.

“I was there this morning with Detective Hadley,” Cach said calming down immediately. The curious looks from the group around the table probed him to continue, “Just a girl I’ve been seeing in town.”

A man standing near the door to the conference room chuckled. “Is this going to be a problem,” the man asked.

“No sir,” Cach immediately replied. “She’s just a casual fling. A roll in the sack for fun. Plenty more like her. Been working her awhile. These hunters aren’t the only ones who like the chase, but the company comes first.”

“Good,” the man continued. “Your orders, however, have changed. It is no longer a live capture mission. We want that technology this time. The creature is not as important. Dead or alive, we want its technology. And the mercs are getting too expensive to deal with.”

“Yes sir,” was the unanimous acknowledgement from everyone. When the head of the X-T section delivered orders personally no one questioned it. Rumor had it that doing so would get you transferred deeper into the secret projects department, and it wouldn’t be a promotion. No one transferred there EVER came back.