A/N: A number of spelling errors have been corrected. I have not abandoned this series, but real life has been in the way for a few months. However, a new chapter will be coming out this Saturday [28/10/2017], so stay tuned.

A warrior needs skill, strength and intelligence to survive. But the mark of a true predator is patience. The key is knowing when to wait, and when to put all your strength into a single, brutal strike. If your timing is right, then there should be no need for another.

All this was running through my mind as I sat perched high up on the edge of skyscraper. The wind was whipping around my molted gray cloak, and the tiny chatter of my helmet's audio feed filled the otherwise silent air. Every so often, I scanned the concrete landscape below through the scope of my sniper rifle. Waiting and watching for a sign of the enemy.

With none forthcoming after a few minutes, I risked a closer look at the facility that was the target of today's mission. It was a few blocks from my position, and marked where the corporate skyscrapers ended and the real security began. The building was square and featureless, designed for utility over aesthetic. It was built low to the ground to help weather an aerial bombardment, and was surrounded by a compound filled with repurposed Spectre units patrolling for any sign of an attack. In essence, the model of modern security against any sort of conventional military assault. Of course, pilots tended to throw any notion of impenetrable security out the window just by the very dint of their existence.

My audio feed suddenly lit up with chatter from my short-time allies, so I listened in while keeping one eye out for movement in the streets below.

"Jared, you take point with the rest of your boys. We'll follow behind ya'll."

"Code names damnit, use code names Eagle!" Someone, presumably Jared, responded. I never bothered remember the names of my employers, as more often than not they'd be dead a few years down the road. My regular Commander, Gates, was of course the exception, but she was also the one person I respected. The rest of the 6-4 didn't count either, as they tended to survive longer than the average mercenary. While I had not put any effort into learning their names, spend enough time around the same people for several years and you do pick things up.

"I'm sorry…" There was an awkward pause. "Viper?"

Goddamn amateurs. Forget years, these idiots had months to live at this rate. That thought amused me greatly, so much so that I almost missed the flash of movement near the outskirts of the compound.

"It's not –" began Jared heatedly, but I interrupted before the argument could get more heated.

"We have movement, 11 o'clock."

The radio fell silent for a moment, and I took the time to scan again for any signs of the enemy. My mind churned through possible scenarios. I ruled out ambush almost immediately. There was little or no cover in the area beyond my line of sight, and as a result any attempt to spring a trap would likely result in a bloodbath. Therefore, it could be nothing, an animal or a civilian who wandered too close the compound. It was better safe than sorry, however, which only left –

"Holy fuck, Jared, they're fuckin everywhere man, you gotta help us –"

The feed cut out, and I could hear gunfire echoing from several blocks behind my position. The audio returned briefly, and I heard people screaming. Evidently the corporation who owned the compound, Vinson Dynamics, had somehow discovered our plan before we even breached the facility. I let out a sigh as the screams continued, interjected with panicked chatter from my former allies. I idly wondered whether I could somehow steal some of my former employers' money, as it was quickly becoming apparent that their life expectancy had been reduced to a couple of minutes. I had been only paid half of my fee, and it looked like this entire venture had been a massive waste of time.

Money was never really that important to me, but good quality pilot equipment was expensive, especially the especially the one-of-a-kind cloaking armor that I wore. Money allowed me to pursue what I truly excelled in: the hunt. Therefore, I was slightly annoyed at the loss of half my paycheck.

I changed position, so I was facing the direction of the gunfire, though it came in more infrequent bursts now. My allies' position was behind another building, so I had limited line-of-sight. I briefly debated moving closer, but eventually decided that waiting was probably a smarter move for now. 30 seconds later, all was silent, and I scanned the streets for a target.

"Bill? Bill? Talk to me, buddy! What's your status?" Jared practically shouted. Huh. Evidently, Jared's group hadn't been hit yet. That changed very little, however, as the situation was unsalvageable at this point. I had hoped after the first few seconds of silence Jared would realize that his friend was dead, but instead he kept yelling into his microphone. I decided to intervene, if only to shut Jared up.

"He's dead. You'll be next, if you don't keep moving."

Jared paused his irritating tirade to consider the wisdom of my words.

"Mel's right. We're going in to recover.." Jared choked. "..the bodies. Then we abort."

This was a level of stupidity I had not yet seen in my line of work. How these idiots managed to gather enough cash to hire me in the first place was the real question, as it was quickly becoming apparent that I'd signed on with a bunch of suicidal morons.

"Mel man, you coming to lend us a hand here?"

"I'm coming," I replied. Of course I wasn't, but Jared would be dead long before he figured that out. Like really, did they honestly think I would take part in their suicidal sentimentalism? They already had the audacity to die before paying me in full, so there was no way I was unnecessarily risking myself.

That was when I saw the pilot. The soldier was wallrunning close the ground, the street over from my position. I only caught flashes of black armor as the pilot passed by, so I didn't have a clean shot. Not yet, anyway. I looked at the outline of its form, and decided the pilot was most likely male.

"We found 'em. Our boys got some of them, at least. They were attacked by Simulacrums!"

"Fucking soulless robots,"

Simulacrums. The technology that had propelled Vinson Dynamics from a small enterprise into a massive, multi-planet organization. For the weak, the desperate and the crippled, Simulacrums had been a siren's call. Pilot training had around a 98% fatality rate, so Vinson Dynamics had sought to solve the problem. The result was a robotic pilot chassis, which a human could transfer their consciousness into. The idea did have its merits, but Simulacrums were for the most part inferior to human pilots. The robots lacked the instincts, and even with advanced sensor they did not come close to the sensory perceptions that top-tier human pilots retained.

This made it all the more interesting that Vinson had deployed a human pilot. I had been tracking the enemy's progress, and the pilot should have reached Jared's squad right about –

Now.

I held my breath for several seconds, but there was only silence. I felt my heartbeat speed up. There should have been gunfire, shouting, anything. Instead there was silence. That could only mean one thing. This pilot had eliminated my allies without making a sound. This was no ordinary pilot. This was a warrior. I had to be sure, though.

"Ranger?" I whispered Jared's code name. Even in these situations, certain protocols had to be observed. Silence greeted my query. I was right.

I felt excitement building at the thought. I hadn't had a worthy opponent in months, and just when this mission had seemed to be a dismal failure, fate had thrown me a bone to pick clean. I was going to enjoy every moment of this. The pilot had yet to appear after slaughtering my former allies, but I didn't allow myself to relax. If I were the enemy pilot, I would wait behind cover for my allies to come assist, or, failing that, draw out any remaining enemies. Several seconds passed, and my respect for the enemy went up a notch. Most inexperienced pilots would have tried to move on immediately, not realizing they had given their position away to potential enemies.

I forced my heartbeat to slow, and allowed a sense of serenity to flow through my body. When making a shot, it is vital to not tense at the last second, as it will often throw it off your aim. I scanned back and forth through the scope of my sniper rifle, waiting for my elusive foe.

And then, he appeared. Not enough to make a clean shot, as only the very top of his helmet was visible from my position. Fire too early, and I would give away my position. Fire too late, and my enemy would escape. It all came down to timing. The pilot stayed there for a minute, likely scanning the area for threats. Then, he slowly began advancing back towards the facility, keeping a low profile and never giving me a clean shot. I grinned involuntarily behind my helmet. The challenging kills were the best.

I tracked his progress through my scope, waiting patiently for the right moment. Then he committed an error that even the most veteran pilots sometimes make. The pilot, satisfied that all enemies had been eliminated, traded cover for speed and began wallrunning back to the base. It was clear that I had not given him enough credit before; his wallrunning jumps were flawlessly executed to a degree that even I would have struggled to match.

I tracked him, waiting, waiting, waiting, and –

I pulled the trigger.

Perfection.

In that instant, the world rushed away, and my entire existence crystalized into a single moment of purity. Then it was gone, and I was left feeling more alive than I had in months. With my hands still shaking slightly from the sudden rush, I glanced at the pilot's fallen body through my scope. His helmet stared sightlessly skyward, his body limp and broken. The bullet had pierced through his armor directly behind the heart. A perfect shot. The pilot had likely died before he even realized he'd been hit.

Patience. That is what truly separates the predator from the prey.

I shouldered my rifle, and stood up, making sure that I was standing directly in the line of sight of the dead pilot. His helmet was likely still recording, so whoever recovered the body would get a clear view of me.

I had a reputation to maintain, after all.