Time 1632. Location: South America, somewhere along the Amazon River.
A lone shadow makes its way through the undergrowth. Carefully and deliberately picking their path, the figure moves as if it was one with the jungle. Stalking its prey, it makes not a sound. It sees its mark now. Ten meters ahead. The smell of fresh meat makes the hair on its back stand tall. As it creeps closer, it pauses. There it is. A mere two meters away. In a single pounce and the beast's growling hunger, will be sated. It steadies itself, rising to its hindquarters just a fraction to allow for the final strike. Its claws unsheathe from its midnight paws. Steady. Steady.
- I hear it coming. Damn thing's been following me for days now. It must be near starvation to be this careless. No. That's not it. I'm just that good. It's not the first, and it won't be the last. Jaguar stew tonight.
A twig snaps. Both predator and prey turn to the startling noise.
---unintelligible moan---
The jaguar turns and darts into the jungle, spooked by the unfamiliar sound.
Silently entering the brush, he makes his way toward the source.
- Fuck. There goes dinner.
---unintelligible moan---
- What the hell is that? Better not be those incompetent Vipers.
---unintelligible moan--- getting louder.
He spies movement in the bushes and takes to the trees.
- No animal sounds. Things are about to get interesting.
"Arrrrrrgggghhh!"
As he watches from his perch, Viper 6 lurches down a well-worn game trail.
- Damn it! How'd I know it was going to be one of these pukes? I should teach him a lesson about noise discipline. Ass cost me dinner and a trophy.
Viper 6 stumbles to the ground.
"Aaaaarrrrrrgggh!" is the only sound he makes.
Several answering moans are heard in the distance, followed by a cacophony of snapping twigs and breaking branches.
- What is this, an exercise in stupidity?
As the noises grow nearer, the watcher moves to a better vantage point.
- These maggots are lucky I'm under orders to remain hidden. Otherwise, I'd strangle each one.
Out of the jungle come several locals. Covered in gaping wounds, they converge on the trail. As he watches, the local drags herself from the undergrowth, intestines spilling from where her lower body should be.
- What the fuck?
He rethinks his initial assumptions about the shambling Viper. Peering intently, he sees that the Viper's shattered faceplate, and he has a compound fracture of the left fibula. There are several holes in the Viper's vest suggesting small arms fire. The others, less protected, suffer from more severe wounds, one appearing to have a ragged hole in his right side exposing a torn lung. All show signs of gunshot wounds.
- What the fuck!
He readjusts his footing, the branch gives way without warning, and he crashes to the ground.
"Damn it!"
Eyes locked on the prone intruder, lips pulled back revealing a set of broken and blacked teeth, then, Viper 6 lets out a blood-curdling moan. The group turns en masse to the alarm of fresh meat and converges, teeth bared, arms outstretched, groaning. The hunter turned prey takes his place at the bottom of the food chain. Within an instant, he turns and runs into the dense jungle, hoping to put some distance between himself and the creatures stalking him.
Comments