Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Alien/Predator series or any characters and may not follow all customs and cultures found in Alien/Predator movies.

The days blended into each other as a week passed by. Evans showed the ropes of the floor Sara would be managing. As her previous job once did, the demand to train new recruits in hand-to-hand combat was essential, test new weapons to mint condition, and buffed security around the perimeter. The last detail of the job was new; guarding wasn't her strongest suit and even less when the things to protect were scientists working on classified shit. Boring but necessary.

Her impatience was getting to her, worse day by day. True it never hurt to keep up training and strife for perfection but patrolling was gnawing at her last strand of tolerance. This is not what the debriefing described, orders to serve for the greater mankind it said. She felt more like a janitor than a soldier.

When the rounds were done, Sara headed for the training ring, a perfect place to blow off some steam and frustration. She could spend hours learning a new technique, more importantly to practice her patience. She moved with precision, striked with restraint when required. Her body profused with sweat and her heartbeat racing by the time she finished. She rested on a bench to recover, taking a sip of water from time to time.

"Working hard I see." Sara noticed Evans entering the room.

She stood up and saluted, "Yes, sir."

He waved, "At ease. I wanted to check your progress and well-being. Everything running smoothly?"

She nodded, "The recruits are a bit slow but they'll catch on, patrols are being kept on schedule and no unusual activity. Things are well, Sir Evans."

"I'm glad. Good work then."

Evans placed a hand on her shoulders and shook firmly, a symbol of greeting. Sara gave a small cornered smile but became self-conscious as he kept the contact lingering on her for longer than she'd liked. He went too far though, rubbing with the smallest touch. She slumped, breaking away from him,"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your praise."

Sara raised her face, suddenly struck by a dark sensation. The green color tone obscured by dilated pupils. Wha—?

But it was gone as Evans chuckled, almost too cheerfully, "You're welcome. If you ever need assistance, let me know."

Sara was left alone when he left but she deeply sighed. He was being too comfortable, touching in ways that was awkward, and the foul mood that lasted for a split second. There's something wrong with him . . . and it's just like—

She curled inwardly, tightened her grip on her shoulders, cold sweat on her forehead appeared. The voices were back again, haunting and tempting.

You're worthless. Nothing but a piece of trash.

You're looking beautiful today. I'm in the mood for some of that.

Bitch! You will do as I say! You hear!?

Sara stiffened, voices nagging into her skull. She didn't know when it would stop. She tried to inflict pain by scratching herself, but even that wasn't enough. The screams . . . the anger . . . the—

"Hey!"

She snapped out of her thoughts, checking at the door to see a group of four male recruits. They came in with their swagger and mighty maleness, making her sick to her stomach. Really?

Sara rolled her eyes and gathered her stuff to leave, but it wasn't going to be easy to just walk away. The juvenile nitwits were led by a brawny one with an eagle tattoo on his neck, coming with a faint smirk. "You're the new recruit? The sniper from the 75th Rangers?"

How did he know that? Sara paid little attention to it, more important to handle the present problem. "I am, sir. May I ask who you are?"

He raised his chest, "Weapons Sergeant Brad Helms from Special Forces."

Weapons specialist then? The Special Forces were a league of their own, similar to the Rangers in military ranks, but others thought them being higher for the dangerous missions they were assigned. A reputation like that would embed a presumption that they were better, and this guy was full of it.

She saluted, merely in respect, "Lieutenant Sara Gibson."

"A Ranger huh? It's an honor and surprise to have a young lady like yourself held in such regard. You have great skills then." He stepped closer, almost touching cheek to cheek and voice subdued, "It's too bad that they let a black person join, much less a woman and then brought here. What has the army come to?"

He swirled with his arms out, listening to the laughter that followed, "You must have slept your way to get here. I wonder, given your conversation with the Lieutenant General just now."

She groaned, not being the first time hearing this but it was disgusting the way he said it. All she did was raise her chin and not react, being emotionless, "It's not your decision who is assigned here or not. As far as anyone is concerned, your judgment had little importance."

Sara tried to leave but Brad and his lackeys formed a circle, surrounding her like a lamb amongst wolves and closing in, a show of intimidation to break her nerves. She stayed firm, "Leave me alone or else you'll regret it."

Brad snickered, "What are you going to do about it? You don't have the guts to—"

A fist landed on his jaw, aimed with such precision that Sara felt it splinter under her knuckles. Brad falls on his ass, gasping from the shock and agony of the attack. The others froze in astonishment, then watched as Sara came deliberately slow to their fallen leader. It was not the best course of action but it felt good . . . really good, especially noticing a line of blood dripping from Brad's mouth. "I suggest you show some respect to the position you hold, or else you give a bad name to those before."

Brad's glare was like staring at a demon, nothing but bloodlust and contempt that darkened it. He rose and gripped his fist. If he was ready to fight, she was going to meet him, harder than he dared thought. Come and get it.

A commotion abruptly started outside the training room, loud enough to gain everyone's attention. The fight had to wait as Sara took the lead to head out, coming to a scene that bewildered her. She witnessed two soldiers carrying another being dragged across the floor. "We need help! He's injured!"

The man was covered in blood, heavily soaked in his clothes. She was shocked to see that his arm was missing, mangled pieces of flesh hanging in shreds. Someone ripped it off . . . or something.

The man cried horribly as others came to his aid, soldiers pushed aside anyone who stood in their way, "Get him to the medical bay! Immediately!"

Sara stood there, watching them disappear but left behind evidence of the scene in the form of a bloodtrail that was left behind. She'd seen gruesome stuff on the battlefield but her body shuddered, a warning of some kind.

"Don't like what you see?"

Sara saw Brad carried by his buddies. He struggled to keep his feet firm, which gave her some pleasure, but the smirk never left his face, "You should be. You know, in here, there are monsters lurking in the shadows."

His group walked past her but not before Brad whispered in her ear, sending a cold shiver, "You never know when you'll be next."

Sara was left alone, to contemplate the recent events. She'd only been in this base for a week and already there were strange things going on. Sara sighed, rubbing her forehead. It's just a base. Put it out of your mind until you learn more and do your duties in the meantime.

She grabbed her things and headed for her room since her duties were done for the day. She turned a corner when she noticed a path towards a door, but not like any other she'd seen. Unlike the glass ones, it was solid metal that high-end banks would use to keep very precious treasure protected, guarded by men bulked with thick padding that bomb defusers would wear, watching with a keen eye. That dark feeling returned, more ominous warnings.

Strange . . .

She gave no more thought, leaving to end this day and hope for a better one tomorrow.

"That fucking bitch. Who does she think she is?" A man named Zach growled, "We should do something."

"Quiet down," Brad groaned, the pain in his jaw amplified with each word, "You're giving me a headache."

"We should report this to the General."

"And tell him what?" Another soldier pointed out, "That we say racial things and just about attack her. She's a higher rank than all of us. We would be the ones getting into trouble for nothing."

Brad closed his eyes, acknowledging their point. She had the audacity to punch him, making him appear the childish one but they can't go to the authorities nor leave due to the nature of their work. And yet he couldn't leave her unmolested, his pride wouldn't have it. "We'll have to be clever. That bitch will get what she—"

Everyone stopped in their tracks, sudden horror overwhelming their bodies as they looked to a corner where a towering shadow lurked. Brad and them didn't waste any time, scattering like mice. If they stayed any longer . . . they didn't want to think about it.

As they left, the figure watched, clattering a growl of irritation. Those males better fear me. They were nothing but trouble and he knew it. It's not uncommon for his own to display maleness and strength, but picking on a female of any species is no laughing matter . . . not if you want to lose a limb.

The female, though, showed such strength and maturity. Her moves almost reflected that of a Blooded warrior that has fought many battles, made him wonder why the males wanted to pick a fight. The translator he had suggested they targeted her for having favors, or the dark tone of her skin. It must not be common among them. A new recruit then?

"What are you doing?"

A claw reached him and roughly grabbed his shoulder. He spun, baring his claws at the attacker, only to realize his mistake and pulled back, "Brother?"

"Are you crazy coming out here? With these armed oomans around?"

He groped,"I wanted to access the damage. The oomans decides to send another one into the hunting grounds for fun. So I thought that—"

My brother huffed, "I already checked. As far as oomans are a concern, they should deal with their own. It is not our business what those vermin decide."

"But . . ." He hesitated.

"But what?"

He couldn't argue, no reasonable explanation that he would understand. Tell him that I'm curious about a certain female. He'll definitely give me a mouthful. He rubbed between his eyes in dissatisfaction.

"I'koh!"

He growled, "l hear you, Ma'dti. You want to attract the oomans? I thought you wanted to avoid that."

"Then let's go back." His brother turned on his shiftsuit to avoid being seen, leaving to go back. He heard the female's voice from afar, still close. But even with the translator, he couldn't understand.

"Are you coming?" His brother called yet again. Such a nag.

"Coming, Brother."

He had no choice, groaning at the recognition. He had to leave for now . . . like all the times before. He shifted to camouflage and vanished back to their little world until something else goes awry. With their luck, it wouldn't be long.

Notes:

Normal = Any human speaking English (ooman language)

Bold = Any Yautja speaking English (ooman language)

Bold and Italic = Any Yautja speaking Yautja language