Art of Hunting

Humans have been hunted for as long as they have been worthy prey which, as they evolved, became a more elite sport.

Why would oomans fog up this tube? My hand touched the cool plastic material, pulling back in surprise when a smaller, more delicate hand slammed against the wall of the container. Half my size but long, thick claws proved that this creature was a hunter like myself. With my mask I could make out the profile of the resident inside. It appeared to be an ooman female, a malnourished one at that, but its body chemistry proved to have very little resemblance to a oomans. A murmuring noise, my shocked reaction hidden by my mask.

"Help me."Speaking my own language so perfectly without tusks and mandibles to punctuate the clicks. A reminder beeped on my wrist computer that my ship was prepped and ready to launch which drew me back a few steps to return. I paused, once more eying the thing in the tube. Spoils of war? A logical answer to the Elders. A high screeching tears at my ears as it claws at the inside of the container, hissing its frustration.

Well…perhaps I could hunt it.

A single well-aimed hit from my plasmacaster shattered the container and it tumbled out, coughing and wheezing at the clean air. Crouching by it, the neuro-gas leaking out from the container had subdued it, I examined its form and, despite its unconscious state, its claws flexed as I drew near.

I am no Healer but it appears, even to me, that this strange creature is a hybrid of sorts. Such things are loathed in my clan but, once again, it could prove to be good sport. Despite its impressive size I still towered a head and a half, or more, above it but it had been a giant among oomans. From a scientific point of view it — she as I soon found it to be — was going to be a specimen creditable of study.

Now that I could have a good look at it, her, I could understand the heavy restraints put upon this creature. Whatever had been bred with her DNA had created something that, from its muscle mass, was as strong as I and the structure of her bones was unnerving. Rather like gel than actual solid bone made to absorb impact and bend impossibly as well as creating a light, highly dense form. She, after parting her lips with a claw, had a rather ooman face with a nose and lips, the teeth inside were remarkable and nearly translucent in color. A bite could surely tear muscle from bone but it was disappointing that she looked like an ooman.

Shaped like an ooman female, soft and pliable beneath my hands, but instead of a mane she sported a grooved head of thin spines that were rather similar to my own. Stopping at the nap of her slender neck these spines lifted and flexed as if entirely sentient while mine hung just past my shoulders, each tube-like hair wrapped in gold and silver rings.

Feet that took after my own with long claws but larger than mine, similar to a raptor or a reptile, small smooth scales on each sinister toe. The big toe had an exaggerated claw that was held up off the ground like a sickle, working like that of a switchblade. While my own body was covered in pebbly mottled scales she was smooth except for her hands, feet, head and a thin line of spikes jutting out of her spine.

A somewhat pretty thing, skin the color of ash and brilliant lips of amber; I parted those lips once more to study her tongue. Sadly human except for its length when those teeth snapped shut on my claw, clipping the sharp tip off as neatly as a shears. Eyes of fire, flaring violent orange as she strained against her manacles, every muscle in her flexing as I touched the neat cut of my claw.

Minutes slipped by before she became still, eyes moving rapidly over the medical bay then back to me, sizing me up as a threat. I was expecting harsh words, snarls when a wide smile pulled those lips back and bared long, clear teeth.

"You are one ugly motherfucker." I understood basic ooman language and the overall gist of this caused my mane to bristle, increasing my goliath size. Growling I spread my mandibles and bared my teeth, I took great pride in my body and my past mates had as well.

We stood seven feet tall, at the smallest, broad of shoulder and thick of arm and thigh, like tree trunks. Our scales natural armor that caused us to shrug off bullet wounds, our blood ran green from copper and our senses were highly superior to oomans. Even if our vision was based off thermal signals our sense of smell could tell the slightest changes of environment and our hearing, in spite of our lack of external ears, was exceptional.

My scars, the deep gouges that littered my body, were my pride and joy as I knew every story behind each one from the bites on my shoulders to the bullet holes on my highly defined pectorals.

To the females of my kind, who stood yet a head taller than the males, I was beautiful and more than commendable enough to sire young. My armor showed the carvings of being Elite, gold woven into the cold gray metal I wore during the hunt.

"Ugly…you are too." It was difficult to say some words without lips and, once more, she laughed until her breath was wheezing.

"You are funny, predator. I cannot judge what is ugly and what is not." Looking at the simple shift I had put over her naked body she narrowed her eyes at me and nodded slowly to herself, confirming something it seemed. When not hunting or sparring my kind preferred only to wear loincloths while oomans seemed content to cover everything up, taking no pride in their bodies.

"You speak our tongue well." I knew that the facility I had raided was medical, of some sort, and it pained me to think that one of my hunt brothers had been captured by oomans.

Tortured.

Mutilated.

"I have a talent at mimicry."

I had been talking but I assumed that, since oomans were a game species, none were intelligent enough to understand me.

"You are not ooman…" I circled the table, clicking my tusks as I did, and, in contrast to my tone, she closed her eyes and relaxed. "…nor are you a registered species. Hybrid." I spat the word and her eyes remained closed before my wrist computer beeped, a message.

Entering Clan docking space. Welcome, Ti'Kon Hunter Brother.

"You have a funny name…" A giggle came from the Hybrid and I ignored it, once more staring at my clipped claw.

"Contact Elder Yr'Sme that I have information and request his presence immediately." Docking now at the clan ship I put a hard meat shock collar around her throat, shackling her hands and I knew if I didn't keep her at a knife point she would strike. Glancing at her I smiled beneath my mask. "And you have no name."