Hunters From Two Worlds

Rahmande basked in the sight before him, taking a deep breath to savor it. Although it was filtered through his respiratory systems before it made it through his bio mask, he could swear that he smell the heat as it rippled off of the Oomans' dwellings up to his perch high above. Indeed, it was a glorious day for a hunt.

At least it ought to be, but Rahmande had been on this world for several cycles and had not taken a single trophy. He could practically hear the other Yautja back home mocking him, saying that they knew that a Mahnde like him didn't have what it takes. However Rahmande found himself hard pressed to care about their opinions. He had proven himself long ago and was blooded. He could have taken several trophies long before now if he so chose. As he was thinking this a group of several such Ooman prey marched through the paved streets far below. Despite it being the middle of the day, Rahmande could have easily picked one from the group and pulled it away from the others, made his kill, then hauled the body to a secluded area to remove his trophy for cleaning. He barely gave them a passing thought, however, for even though the trophy would impress many of his fellow hunters it was less than worthy to Rahmande. No the reason he had yet to take a trophy here was not in the streets far below but rather several buildings straight across from him.

The Oomans in the streets far below might have mistaken this pale figure as part of the architecture, but Rahmande was not fooled so easily. Even if he had not seen the way its cloak rippled in the wind that blew across the rooftops, his bio-mask's heat sensors easily identified it as a Ooman. However, this Ooman was quite unlike any of its ilk teeming and smelling up the streets far below them. The way it moved, the way it acted, it had Rahmande's attention from the moment he arived in this place. Even now, with it perched motionless on the rooftop across the way, Rahmande would have sworn that he had come across yet another Yautja had he not seen enough previously to convince him otherwise.

As Rahmande crouched there transfixed, the one he was observing suddenly raised his gaze from the streets below to look straight at him. Had he made a mistake? he had made no noise or sudden movements, a glance at his diagnostic screen showed that his camouflage cloak had reported no errors in its operation. His perch hadn't crumbled any to alert his target to his position. The only thing that Rahmande could think of was that his breathing was slightly accelerated in anticipation, but as far away as the target was there was no way that it could have heard. By all accounts there was no way that it could have seen or heard him, yet there it was staring straight at him.

Rahmande lost track of how long they remained like that, the Ooman staring at something that it should not be able to see, he himself staring back motionless, his breathing slowed and shallow so as to avoid any motions that might give away his position. Then a noise from the street below drew the Ooman's attention from him, and Rhamand chanced a glance to see what it was. Moving through the busy streets was a group of 7 Oomans: 6 who wore metal armor and were armed with a variety of primitive yet effective-looking weapons moving in a protective formation around one who was unarmed and slightly obese yet dressed more flashily than most of those in this place. The pale-cloaked Ooman looked back up in Rahmande's direction once more for a moment, then it stood and took off running towards the edge of the roof where it dived off. Were this any other Ooman Rhamande would have assumed that it was attempting to take its own life with how high up they both were. Having been observing this particular Ooman, however, he was unsurprised when its dive landed it in a conveyance piled full of some harvested plant product, out of which it emerged unscathed.

As the group of Oomans passed by the narrow passage where it landed, the cloaked Ooman followed the others from a distance, its cadence matching theirs while it kept its eyes down and didn't meet the gaze of any other Ooman it passed by. Likewise none of the other Oomans seemed to notice it, or it they did they didn't call it out. That was one of the things that fascinated Rahmande about this Ooman Hunter, as he had come to know him. Despite it not having access to the cloaking technology possessed by Rahmande and his fellow hunters, this Ooman seemed to have a greater grasp of the stealth hunting techniques than many of the veteran Blooded that Rahmande knows, so much so that even hunting in daylight doesn't seen to hinder this Ooman.

Only when the paved road widened into a greater area where many Oomans milled about did the Ooman Hunter fall back, letting its target continue onward while it appeared to relax on one of the corners of the road's opening into this area. Of course the readouts Rahmande was seeing told him that the Hunter wasn't resting, its muscled remaining tense as it resumed its observation. Then, when the group reached the center of the area and the armed Oomans dispersed from the one they were protecting, likely to assume more defensible positions, that's when the Hunter made its move. Moving at the same cadence it was before, the Hunter made its way amongst the crowd, slipped past the guards who were still getting into position, then came up behind his prey that they were protecting. Rahmande doubted that the other Oomans, even the ones that were the closest, where able to hear. However, the enhanced hearing that Rahmande's equipment provided him was easily able to make out the ringing of the blade hidden in the Hunter's sleeve followed by the wet sounds of if slicing through it's prey's flesh, nicking the vertebrae, grazed but didn't sever the spinal nerve, and pierced the prey's heart. So precise was the hunter's strike that its prey was unable to cry out, nor did it make any physical signs of struggle, frozen in the shock of the initial blow. Rahmande thought of his own wrist blades. Even though they were possibly thinner and certainly made of a stronger material, their design was more to incapacitate their target with pain, to ensure that the damage done was so severe that death was assured, and so could never make such a stealthy kill. Then, as swiftly as the blade the fatal blow did it withdraw itself again, and the Hunter continued on past as if it never stopped, and still its prey did not react.

It was only when the Hunter was outside the circle of guards and near the other side of the clearing did its prey collapse, its blood now staining the paving stones below it, and the usual Ooman chatter was interrupted by the sounds of screams. When the guards were alerted to the death of their charge began looking for the culprit, the Hunter then picked up its pace and slipped into a narrow passage, the guards giving chase. When the Hunter exited the passage, however, it immediately slowed down and sat on a bench occupied by other Oomans. As the guards exited the passage onto the street the Hunter kept its eyes down, and as they didn't get a good look at the Hunter they began to split up in different directions to look for it. Once the street was clear of hostile presence, the Hunter stood up again, located a secluded area, then began to climb back up to the rooftops again.

Out of everything, this behavior of the Ooman Hunter baffled Rahmande the most. This Hunter never went back to claim its trophy, and it was rare when it would take anything from its prey while it was there. Most of the time the only thing that it took was its prey's life. Yet the hunts didn't seem like senseless slaughter, its movements were too measured and precise for that. No, there was a purpose to these hunts, but Rahmande couldn't figure what that purpose was. For a moment Rahmande was seized by the impulse to reveal himself to the Ooman Hunter, to ask it why it hunts, perhaps to even ask to join it on one of its hunts to glean knowledge from it. Then than moment passed. This was not the way of the Yautja. They might respect the cunning of their prey, even acknowledge when one of them manages to best one of his people, but it's unthinkable to think of one of such an inferior race as an equal. That was what Rhamande was on the verge of doing, and he admonished himself for letting himself get so wrapped up in the Ooman Hunter's skills that he nearly forgot that fact.

As the Ooman Hunter reached the rooftop and took a moment to rest, Rahmande realized that the time had come. Having identified this one as his chosen prey, all that was left was the kill. With its back turned towards him, it could not see the targeting lights trace their way up its back, and it was too far away (and likely too exhausted) to hear the whine of Rahmande's shoulder plasma cannon getting ready to fire...

...and then the trio of lights vanished as Rahmande shut down his cannon. No, he may not be able to acknowledge this native hunter as one of them, but it deserved better than to be shot in the back like this. The fact is that this Hunter was a truly worthy prey, perhaps the most worthy prey Rahmande would come across in a good long time, and it deserved a death befitting it. Therefore it would utilize the Ooman Hunter's own tactics against it: observing his prey, hunting like it hunted, and perhaps even redesigning his wrist blades to better reflect the function and lethality of the other hunter's. Then, when the time finally came to make his kill, he would give this trophy a place of honor even above that of the Kiande Amedha with which he himself became blooded. Let the others think what they want about that, but this trophy means that much to him. Rahmande trembled with excitement in anticipation of that moment, whispering under his breath, "Soon..." Then, before the Ooman Hunter could turn around, Rahmande left his perch and headed back to his ship to prepare.