The Predator's hunting ground is the Twentieth Century Fox lot.
Pterry owns the Discworld lock, stock and turtle.
Predator/Discworld: WATCH THE HUNT
By: Mozphoto
Chapter 2
The silicates were too easy. However, slaughtering them did serve a purpose, even if the hunter couldn't eat them. Their lifeless carcasses served as a message to his main prey. Putting the quarry on its guard was the traditional way of beginning the hunt. Work them into a frenzy of paranoia, then strike.
The hunter had waited and observed. Ah, this victim might prove to be a challenge.
"So what you are telling me, commander," Lord Vetinari scowled, "is that twenty trolls were slaughtered, in broad daylight, and left hanging upside down like so many sides of meat, with you and your men only steps away, and you have no idea who did this or how?"
"Sir." Vimes felt idiotic as it was. He once thought that the sight of a dragon drawing breath to incinerate him would haunt him to his grave. That had been replaced by the memory of being surrounded by a group of enraged, but polite dwarves while he informed Mrs. Hammerhock that her husband, Bjorn, had been murdered. That had now been replaced by the sight of Constable Flint vomiting. He'd never seen a troll puke its guts out, he truly wished he was still ignorant. "I've checked with the assassins sir, they assure me they had nothing to do with it."
The patrician raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." Without looking, he pulled a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk. "According to this er, complaint, your method of checking was to barge into Dr. Downey's office, point a sword at his throat, and say, yes, here it is," Vetinari cleared his throat. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, I'll have your head on a pike.' My, but you do have a way with words, Sir Samuel!"
"Sir."
Dr. Downey sat at his desk and pored over the reports on the week's inhumations. He made a mental note to discuss some issues with old Mericet the next day and was about to sign the last report when he heard it.
PuRrRrRrRrRrRrRr
The sound seemed to come from every direction at once. Downey sighed. No doubt a student prank. He supposed the students were long overdue in a lesson of humility.
"I'lL hAvE yOuR hEaD."
Now the head of the Assassin's Guild was annoyed. To be harassed by the Watch, at all hours, was going too far indeed! "Really Vimes, this is most undignified. Even for you."
PuRrRrRrRrRrRrRr "ViMeS fOr YoU."
A very large hand clamped down on the top of his head from behind and held the chief assassin immobile. He didn't even have time to scream before the twin blades tore into his back, severing his skull and spinal column from the rest of his body.
Oh well, not much of a challenge either. But then, used properly, most effective.
Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch, Duke of Ankh, awoke the next morning, washed, and dressed. He then spent a considerable amount of time playing with his baby son, kissed his wife goodbye, and walked out of his house on his way to another day of work.
Jammed into the ground, in front of the gates of his estate, was a pike. Dr. Downey's head was on it.
Pterry owns the Discworld lock, stock and turtle.
Predator/Discworld: WATCH THE HUNT
By: Mozphoto
Chapter 2
The silicates were too easy. However, slaughtering them did serve a purpose, even if the hunter couldn't eat them. Their lifeless carcasses served as a message to his main prey. Putting the quarry on its guard was the traditional way of beginning the hunt. Work them into a frenzy of paranoia, then strike.
The hunter had waited and observed. Ah, this victim might prove to be a challenge.
"So what you are telling me, commander," Lord Vetinari scowled, "is that twenty trolls were slaughtered, in broad daylight, and left hanging upside down like so many sides of meat, with you and your men only steps away, and you have no idea who did this or how?"
"Sir." Vimes felt idiotic as it was. He once thought that the sight of a dragon drawing breath to incinerate him would haunt him to his grave. That had been replaced by the memory of being surrounded by a group of enraged, but polite dwarves while he informed Mrs. Hammerhock that her husband, Bjorn, had been murdered. That had now been replaced by the sight of Constable Flint vomiting. He'd never seen a troll puke its guts out, he truly wished he was still ignorant. "I've checked with the assassins sir, they assure me they had nothing to do with it."
The patrician raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." Without looking, he pulled a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk. "According to this er, complaint, your method of checking was to barge into Dr. Downey's office, point a sword at his throat, and say, yes, here it is," Vetinari cleared his throat. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, I'll have your head on a pike.' My, but you do have a way with words, Sir Samuel!"
"Sir."
Dr. Downey sat at his desk and pored over the reports on the week's inhumations. He made a mental note to discuss some issues with old Mericet the next day and was about to sign the last report when he heard it.
PuRrRrRrRrRrRrRr
The sound seemed to come from every direction at once. Downey sighed. No doubt a student prank. He supposed the students were long overdue in a lesson of humility.
"I'lL hAvE yOuR hEaD."
Now the head of the Assassin's Guild was annoyed. To be harassed by the Watch, at all hours, was going too far indeed! "Really Vimes, this is most undignified. Even for you."
PuRrRrRrRrRrRrRr "ViMeS fOr YoU."
A very large hand clamped down on the top of his head from behind and held the chief assassin immobile. He didn't even have time to scream before the twin blades tore into his back, severing his skull and spinal column from the rest of his body.
Oh well, not much of a challenge either. But then, used properly, most effective.
Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch, Duke of Ankh, awoke the next morning, washed, and dressed. He then spent a considerable amount of time playing with his baby son, kissed his wife goodbye, and walked out of his house on his way to another day of work.
Jammed into the ground, in front of the gates of his estate, was a pike. Dr. Downey's head was on it.