A/N: Okay… as with any story that has a detailed history or specific details that can affect the storyline, I'll begin by telling you what I do and do not know, so you can correct me before I make any mistakes, or understand why I make some if I do. I'll try to keep this as short as possible.

Anyway, I know how the alien lifecycle works, and that they use some sort of telepathy with the queen. That's the aliens side sorted. Predators, I'm not so sure about. My main concerns that affect this storyline are with (possibly) lifespan and honour system. I think that they live for over a thousand Earth years, and I have managed to find a little on their society and honour system, but hey – correct me if I go wrong anywhere and I'll try to go back and re-write over my mistakes. That's that done, so let's get on with the story.

~Prologue~

The outpost on L-V 143 was a quiet place, with little contact with hostile beings.  For those who wanted to start a new life away from the hustle and bustle of the home-world, it was the perfect new beginning.  But this perfect beginning had an unhappy ending.

Smoke billowed up into the darkened sky, and the brazen flames glowed and gave light to the massacre. For that was what it was; not a fight, but a massacre. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, belonging to those that in life had been given weapons to defend themselves with, and even of those that had not. They were the bodies of men, women and children. Here and there, there was the mutilated corpse of a pregnant woman, or a baby no older than eighteen Earth months. Not a single corpse had a skull, and those that were still standing – still fighting – would not have their skulls for long either.

Kurath stared at the freshly taken human skull in his talons. There was a plate of a human metal covering the top right half of the skull, making it an interesting article and a unique item for his trophy collection. Upon the ground lay the body that it had come from: a human warrior – male he guessed – with armour and the symbols 'U', 'S', 'C' and 'M'. He did not know what they meant, but he knew what it meant to him; armed and worthy prey. He was the leader of a hunting ship called the Ga'ed-a'rath, and his crew consisted of seven, including himself. All full, Blooded warriors. Nie'de stalked over to him, holding in his left talon three bloody spinal columns with their skulls still attached at the ends.

"We should go soon," he warned. "Our own will realise our presence here by the energy readings – and I very much doubt that the pyode amedha will be ignoring our presence – not that we couldn't handle them just as well as we have done so already." Kurath flared his tusks in agitation; yet again his second-in-command was treating him as if he did not know all of the factors, and what course of action to take. Kurath could think for himself; he was no fool.

"I want our task here finished first and then we shall leave," he told Nie'de. "Finish up quickly; make sure none are left alive and raze the buildings to the ground." Nie'de acknowledged his leader's commands with a bow of the head before he cloaked and ran back to the ooman buildings and into the dying fray. Kurath walked back to the ship, deciding that he would let all of the younger Blooded enjoy their fun with the remaining prey. After all, none of the specimens here were actually worthy of his attention. As he passed by the woods on his left, he noticed 'Tkon'te hanging up some skinned corpses. Kurath smiled. They were a message – all of it was. It was just as much a message to their own kind as it was to the pyode amedha, and the message was this: choose to keep out of our way, or you have chosen death.

And it will not be kind.

~End of Prologue~