He stared at her for a long time.

While traveling uphill he had come across an ooman up close and personal in a seemingly idle state.

His interest was piqued and looked over. Just for a moment, he would analyze the Ooman, then be on his way. If he had his bio mask it would only take seconds. He would be able to see if any other hatchlings have been in the area and if the ooman had been impregnated or not. Even its exact heart rate, pheromone, and hormone levels. He could still pick up on this with sight and smell alone —just not the exact levels and body temperature, he was quite fond of exacts.— There would still be mucus samples in the leaves and earth he could trace if there was one nearby, and the carcass would be quite easy to find as well, had it deposited its larva. He wasn't so helpless without the full functionality of his gear. But with it, it sure as hell would make things

He needed to be on the move after inspecting the ooman. He crept up towards it silently and examined it.

no signs of an abnormal heartbeat or pain that would usually ensue from the impregnation of a hatchling. There were no traces of its secretions anywhere near the field, either. He took a moment to survey the trees as well for any secretions. If another hatchling had been released, it would not have been here recently.

He zoned away from the environment. He would study the oomans emotional state next.

It was relaxed, and content, its breaths were deep and its exhales held a sense of equilibrium. The ooman was stable more or less, more than he had seen others be.

It was clearly preoccupied with something. Its head swayed with the sounds of nature. It would look up to the sky, shrouded by trees, sigh, and continue its focus on the same thing previously. As it looked up from its focus, the oomans face became more apparent to him, dark hair, dark eyes, and its skin an earthy cream tone. Like deep marsh quicksand, pulling someone in from the tide.

Upon seeing her face, his curiosity had grown immensely.

He recognized this ooman. He's seen it a few times now.

He cocked his head to the side.

What a coincidence it had been that —out of the hundred or so oomans here on this preservation he had the potential to run into— (potentially maim if he so wished,)—the same tiny little ooman had appeared in front of him.

It was her, alright. Only hours before he had met her gaze from miles away. Looked up at him, his light-bending armor with suspicious curiosity.

Before falling over rather pathetically, that is.

Clumsy little ooman.

It proved to be resilient though,

He watched the ooman getting back up on her feet and the leader corrected it with a swipe over the head.

It walked off the pain and embarrassment rather quickly.

It reminded him of how a mother would batt her cub.

Now it was here, high up in the mountains nestled against a tree with a large pad of condensed wooden pulp—paper was what it was called in the ooman language—resting in its lap.

What was even more coincidental, was that this ooman belonged to the same village as the one he had visited earlier today, before his run-in with the bad blood runt. The ooman had shared the same fragrance as one of the dens in the female cabin.

What a day this was becoming.

He remembered scanning the records of the cabins, and finding depictions of life, and expression as well as countless literature texts. Specifically a logged entry of some kind. Others were pages-long exerts of human anatomy, physiology, and a few texts were stories, he didn't delve too deep into those. He wanted to piece some of it together, but he didn't have the time or the functioning equipment.

He couldn't access the recorded data from his helmet but if he had, he'd be pulling up all the etchings and literature from their village encampment.

Maybe he could match the den to the ooman by comparing the scanned etchings with new ones. Like the pad that rested in her lap.

He noticed at her side was a wide flat tote, filled with what seemed to be more supplies for their craft. He would need to get a close look to see just what was in there.

Ten oomans from her village were armed after all, but he didn't recall seeing any munitions on the small girl.

It would seem uncharacteristic of it. So small and puny, but a firearm would turn the little runt into a threat. A killable threat.

One simple addition of her person would turn her Into something worth killing, even though it only resembled a small earthling mammal.

The bag seemed void of any munitions, just paper of different textures and writing utensils—the same as others in the village.

There was nothing left to see now. He had inspected her, and now It was time to leave.

Throughout the time he spent analyzing her, he watched as she would look up occasionally, stare at random spots in the grass or its main focus— which appeared to be some kind of flower and continue its etchings. The Ooman would even hold its stick out and use its thumb on the utensils to gauge the size and distance so it could depict that on its canvas.

Maybe it was also an 'exacts' type of personality. Even though that form of measurement looked primitive at best, he could measure farther distances with just his optics alone.

It was when the Ooman froze that his interest spiked again. He watched it squint its eyes at the paper in a newfound confusion.

Its dark brows scrunched, it looked up into the felid and squinted again. Her eyes set and rested upon a patch of grass just in front of him.

But not just in front of him, she also seemed to be looking past the blades of grass by his feet. He wondered if she had seen something behind him that he had not picked up on yet.

He listened.

All he could hear was the increased hardness in which the girl was etching, the scratch of the utensils moving in smaller areas of her paper-pad

Did her heart rate increase? She still looked so calm and in a second the breaths were back to normal and her gaze softened on the pad of paper.

It should be safe to disengage now, finally. He had thought with a tinge of annoyance. Despite him being the one to approach and study the Ooman for quite some time.

He picked his feet up and turned to walk past, his steps were slow and quiet, she had not noticed, the foolish human had no idea that he'd been watching her, studying her, analyzing her.

Now he would also depart unnoticed—

Snap.

His silent steps had been interrupted by the crackling of a branch underneath him.

Pauk de— he growled at the branch and sighed, rolling his eyes.

In the corner of his vision, he noticed a pair of eyeballs now looking in his direction. More specifically the broken branch and his foot cloaked, but clearly apparent now.

He lifted his foot off the branch, stepping to the side of it. and snapped his head in her direction. Would it panic?

He watched as she physically flinched upon seeing him, her breath changing from a deep inhale to shallow speedy breaths.

She was clearly in a state of panic, now staring up where the area of his face was. She couldn't lock onto anything, because she had only seen the flaws of the light-bending camouflage.

The seam.

The higher quality armor had less and less of a definitive 'seam' breaking the line between the camouflage and the environment around it. Some of the more experienced hunters could be indistinguishable –even while right in your face—from the environment around them.

Not only that, but his gear was malfunctioning, making the seam line potentially more apparent. She stared at his outline in terror. Her eyes went from dark abysses to shallow trenches, the whites of her eyes becoming more and more visible as she stared at his camouflage wide-eyed

Not quite what you expected, little Ooman?

It was interesting to see how she analyzed different parts of the seam of the camouflage. Some hunters intentionally kept their seam quite visible to scare and antagonize their prey.

He has seen it in the hunter vods quite a few times.

Although this situation was completely unintentional it was still interesting to see the mind of the female Ooman bend and twist in an attempt to break down what exactly it was currently experiencing.

It wasn't very smart. He thought to himself.

On the trial, in the jungle temple when the humans had seen his outline—granted, his invisible body was splattered with blood— they didn't hesitate to run, to scream.

Yet here she stays, frozen in place. Her legs were stiff and straightened out from their lifted position. Its large notepad and pencils would slide down her legs to her shins. Allowing him a full view of her latest etchings

He studied the image on the canvas curiously. The pad was covered in greys, darker greys, and near-blacks. It created a colorless image of the field in front of her, the flower enlarged on the pad of paper and depicted in fine detail, in the corner of the flower were spills of light imitating where the sun seeped through the trees.

Then he looked closer. Amusement chortled through his chest.

What's this?

She had accidentally depicted the seam and distortion of his light-bending camouflage, in the corner of the page was the invisible outline of his foot, the light seeping through the trees warping slightly around the form.

For a puny Ooman, its attention to detail was quite impressive.

her squinting towards him in confusion, the brief increase in heart rate began to make sense now.

She knew he was there longer than she had let on.

Except now it actually perceived him as a threat, shaking in its skin. weary, terrified, and contemplative.

She was trying to make sense of what the hell she was looking at.

Maybe, he mused to himself, she'd even ask him.

"What the hell are you." Was a common phrase among Ooman in their encounters with the hunters.

That and one other phrase.

He watched her, waiting. (Even though he really should be leaving now)

The ooman remained silent. Its shakes lessened in intensity and now it was her that was analyzing him. Now he was confused.

What was that facial expression? He couldn't recognize it.

She looked horribly ugly with it on. (Not that he saw it as anything other than an ooman, a creature, an alien.)

Its expression was a cross between inquisition and pure terror

Its face was so focused-confused and analytical even its body was having fluctuations.

At one point she had stopped looking at him entirely, she looked past him and her stance calmed only slightly. Was she pretending not to notice him?

What did she take him for? A ghost?

"What remarkable form." The bright-voiced Ooman male chimed.

"Too bad he's dead," its voice had dropped several octaves.

If he had been speaking to DaTaln, he wasn't paying him any heed. He was keeping himself, occupied with tracking the whereabouts of the juvenile hard meat, almost fully grown now. He also kept track of the whereabouts of his resident hothead Katalic, who was likely to be on a rampage right about now.

Not that his teammate cared for avenging the yautja, he more so wanted to kill the clan-loyal blooded warriors.

Katalic seemed to be especially enraged about C'Jck c'brahr, the Nameless Yautja, for getting in the way of their success.

'What an idiot to swear his own name away in a chiva.'

Anyone decent who knows his father would remember his name. Absolute foolishness. making promises like that, especially when he had hundreds of years to break them.

Swears and chivalrous promises were so Old World

The remnants of the clan of yautja knights where such traditions had originated had died out centuries ago.

But old traditions still held up in current Yautja society.

as did the other remnants of previous honor codes, despite their differences from the modern codes and laws

(Which as of 36 hours ago, no longer applied to him.)

He turned his attention back to the doctor, cutting into the corpse with great pleasure.

DaTaln only half listened when the mad doctor spoke, sometimes what the human said made no sense, and sometimes it just babbled to itself.

However he could pick up when the doctor was about to say something (potentially) important, this would now be one of those times, its gloved hands reached inside the corpse with a smile. He watched the ooman open its mouth to speak, it was always grinning.

he was listening now.

"Sibling rivalry?" The mad doctor questioned, despite already knowing Celtac's killer had been none the wiser to their relation, being sired by the same father.

DaTaln watched it plug wires and tubes into the headless corpse. Draining his blood into cartridges before performing an autopsy. Two older Yautjas stood behind them in the observation room.

"What of the son, C'Jck c'brahr?" One of them asked.

"He suffered little to no injuries, however, based on the last footage of Caltac's mask, the hunter had suffered catastrophic damages to his armor, particularly his mask."

"Does he still have access to the Pheromone camouflage?" One of the other yautja turned to look at the speaker in interest. This technology was certainly new to them, being exiled long before this group of newbloods had.

"It is unknown if it is still operable from his chassis."

The older predator growled lowly from the observation room coms, clearly irritated.

"What a sad, pathetic defeat." it chided. He seemed to look over at the younger traitor, maybe he expected a reaction.

DaTaln was unaffected by this. It was Celtac's choice to die the way he did, honorless.

Despite not having a code to follow anymore, he let pride swell to his head and was too vulnerable to give up, not even to save his own life. He could have killed C'Jck c'brahr if he wasn't blinded by stupidity.

And maybe went to canon training a few times.

Too late for that now.

"Where is Little Katalic, you know he has special plans for him?" the four yautja looked over at the mad doctor, whose grin never ceased.

Dataln sighed before engaging his com.

Poor Katalic

Shana had to catch her breath. Her nostrils and lungs were burning. Where was she now?

Route 207. So far she had seen no one in sight especially not the elusive dressed camp security. But something did feel off.

Despite her nose burning there was a strange smell in the air. She couldn't quite identify what it was. He first thought would be blood, but it was missing a very tangible copper penny smell to seal that assumption. It smelled like.

I dunno maybe sweat? It could have been an animal for all she knew.

But unless it was a direct threat or concern, it didn't matter right now.

She would not leave Cassandra up there to get lost, or worse, eaten. She should have brought water, she should have brought something.

She was in such a rush, a panic to go check on her friend that she left her phone on the picnic bench at the camp.

The day had passed faster than when they first arrived at camp. The sun had reached its highest point and would be setting in a few hours.

"Stupid, stupid Patrick."

she was seething under her tired breath, readjusting the straps of her sports bra from inside her shirt before trekking up the path in a fast walk now.

He was only proving the short semi-feminist right time and time again. Is this why Cass disliked guys so much? Or was there another reason?

Shana's main major was psychology. She had been taking classes for it for a few semesters now. She also liked art, if there was a way to link them together, that would be an interesting profession. and If art didn't work out that would be what she fell back on. She was going for both majors simultaneously.

Even before this she always had a secret tendency to psycho-analyze people. Not in any harmful way. Just to figure out why people were who they were.

Why do they do what they do?

Her best friend was a complete anomaly. Cass had already told her that she didn't hate all men, and Shana believed her– but she still seemed to have a natural aversion to men in general. Shana couldn't figure out why. There were some obvious no-no-level questions that could be asked. But it didn't really feel like anything happened to her in that regard to make her the way she is.

What could have possibly happened to her for her to dislike guys so much?

To people who didn't know her – especially the guys who were unlucky enough to meet her. – she probably came across as a little stuck-up. Especially because you wouldn't know half there is to really know about her. If it weren't for actually knowing Cass, maybe she would have thought so too.

But Cassandra was a sweet girl, thoughtful and empathetic and strong when she needed to be. And she could be goofy and nerdy, just like herself. Like everyone at camp, she had a touch of ditziness to some extent –Shana wasn't excluding herself either-.

Especially when it came to how stupid she made herself look in front of Cristian Buyers while picking the numbers.

It was such a brief interaction but god it felt desperate. She didn't even mean to say it, it just came out.

She audibly sighed and cringed as she thought about it.

He was cute and sporty like her. He seemed like a nice guy, he also had an excellent academic standing. But he was clearly all over Angela -and her huge freaking boobs.— It's obvious she likes him too. But if that's the case, why aren't they already dating?

Was she just stringing him along? Was he a power play to her? The same questions could be asked about him. Even though they weren't together, they didn't seem to far away from each other. Maybe they were just best friends?

"No, I don't think so." At this point, she began to answer herself out loud while speed-walking up the trails

Angela was nearly foaming at the mouth when Bridget walked off the trails with him. Bridget was gorgeous, with red hair and light freckles. Just slightly more freckles than Shana had.

She seemed to like him too. Not only that, but Bridget also had bigger boobs than Shana.

The tall blond girl stared down at her chest, while not exactly a flat board, there had been an obvious juxtaposition between her and the rest of the ladies in her cabin.

There were some exceptions. Alena and Melissa from cabin 2B were also flat-chested. Alena actually did have a cardboard box chest. They were all relatively pretty, but the 7 girls in her cabin were more on the fuller side. Even Cassandra.

Maybe that's just what he was into. —large jugs—If that was the case then there was really nothing she could really do about that. Preferences are preferences.

Christian was nice to her, engaged, and included her in conversations often. He even invited her to a party last year —which she couldn't go to because she had been swamped in exams for her double semester.— But even with seeing him at school and talking to him, it was not enough for her to really understand him.

Not nearly as much as she'd come to know Cassandra, which was funny because she met Cristian Buyers prior to her meeting her new best friend.

Her lost best friend

She stopped again and looked around the trails. Route 224.

She was getting closer.

"I'm coming, Cassandra." She rasped into the air. Kicking her legs up against the incline with a huff.

Shana was sporty and athletic and this was tiring even for her. When she got back to camp she vowed to shove her exhausted foot up Patrick's ass. Ankle deep.

It didn't make sense. Patrick had the perfect opportunity to get to know Cass, and see a side of her other than the 'quiet artist' and 'the she-beast.' (At least what Tyler said when he found out that she and Shana were friends.)

But Cass was never outwardly rude towards Tyler.

'Maybe it was because he was the son of a lesbian couple? Nah, that's not how feminism works. Neither is hating men though.'

Cass doesn't hate men, at least not all of them but she still acts funny around them.

She would be super calm and open around female classmates, but when it was the same instance with a male classmate she would be quieter, and more reserved. But then again, Cass was also quiet around people she didn't know too well regardless of gender.

So what was it?

What was the connection?

The trek was long. But thankfully she had her analytical mind to occupy her journey.

Was there a connection? If so where did it stem from?

"How much longer are we over here?"

She stopped abruptly, there were other voices coming from up the trails.

Their voices were a little…too foreboding to be camp security.

The elusive men in black Patrick were fibbing about?

She stepped off the trail and backed up behind a few logs.

If they saw her they would definitely send her back down like they did with Patrick.

She would have to stay hidden until they pass.

"Check the perimeter, no one gets up here until they clear Tower 2"

Shana

crept further off the path and parked it behind a tree as they walked by, listening carefully.

"Affirmative. We already sent four hikers down. One kid had come up, he was looking for a girl."

Shana's hearing heightened as newfound adrenaline reached her body. She listened hard.

We're they talking about Cassandra?

"I sent a couple of girls down earlier, what did she look like?"

The other voice paused for a moment

"He gave a shit description, said she looked like she belonged in a roller rink."

"What the fuck was that supposed to mean?"

Shana's heart raced.

She knew exactly what the fuck he meant.

Victoria's secrets shopper, Colorful PINK sweater, thigh-high wearing, glitter sandals girly-pop

Cassandra Quinn Faust

She was still here somewhere. And for some reason, call it intuition, Shana didn't want these men to find her.

They sent everyone else down, according to what he said,

But for whatever reason, she felt nothing but bad vibes from these men. She hadn't even seen them yet.

They were coming right past her now she froze up and waited.

"I don't fucking know,'' the man groaned "these kids nowadays are getting stupider by the minute."

"Too much lead in their water, maybe."

"Not enough is more like it."

"Taylor, be nice. Haven't you had a soul before?"

"I don't get paid to be nice Bernadette. I get paid to kill shit and stand around with you and do nothing for hours on end."

"Oh, there was one other thing." The voice named Bernadette spoke up, seeming to have completely missed or ignored the other man's rigid response.

"What."

"He said she had long hair, any of the girls you send down have long hair?'

"Did the fucker give a description of what he meant by long? Shoulder length? Pocahontas?"

"Nope."

"What the hell." He paused and their footsteps—that she didn't even remember listening for, so deep in their conversation—.he was clearly thinking it over.

"Uh, kind of I guess. They all kind of had long hair, the one had uh, frosty tips?"

"Frosty tips? What does that mean?'

"It's like a hairstyle I guess, brunette with blond hair at the tips."

"Oh, that makes sense. Was she hot?"

"If she wasn't twice our junior? Maybe." The man remarked.

"I miss when kids looked like snot-nosed flat-board, tree climbing, playing-at-the-park still motherfuckers."

Shana felt personally attacked.

Flat-board?

She was 20 years old! Those girls had to be in their early twenties or late teens too, wouldn't they?

She looked down. She was almost practically a flat board.

Did that mean she was also a snot-nosed, playing-at-the-park still motherfucker?

'I can't even remember the last time I've been to the park,'

She was screaming internally.

"Nope" Bernadette said. "Everybody's a supermodel nowadays."

Their voices grew distant, and Shana let herself breathe naturally.

She had held her breath while they were passing by so naturally she hadn't noticed until she was gasping for air once their voices had dissipated for good.

What the hell is going on?

Maybe Cass was on the right track.

Maybe this trip would be going a lot smoother if they had gone to the beach instead.

After a few more minutes she began hiking up the trail, power walking at hyperspeed, vigilant now for any other signs of men in black, what were they doing and why were they here?

'It's not like they were smuggling aliens into the campsite, right?'

Katalic shrieked with immeasurable anger.

The puny runt's head hung above the tree, blood staining its oak.

The fucker was taunting him.

No way in the gods' fiery underworlds would his plans be foiled by a Yautja who didn't even bear a fucking name to himself.

I should have killed that runt myself.

He punched a caving indent into the large oak.

He hated this stupid planet, he hated the clan he had to abandon, and most importantly

He loathed C'Jck c'brahr.

He wasn't bound to the honor code, he could yank the head down and squeeze the blood into the nameless yautja's mouth until he drowned gurgling. But it was ingrained in his head, he was taught too well not to disobey some of its laws.

You don't touch what you don't kill.

This had everything to do with ego apart from traditionally being about respect. Only the weak stole kills and claimed trophies that didn't belong to them.

Weakness was not what made him turn away from his clan. Touching the skull would be a sign of weakness, he wouldn't dare touch it,

However, he was more than ready to smear his hands in the blood of the clan-loyal yautja and drown his team with its blood.

He began to sprint uphill at lightning speed.

—-

Salvak punched the struggling hard meat unconscious, stopping it from trying to escape its bindings. He took a step back and returned to his position next to X'ol.

the team in front of them was silent for a moment, the other team was behind it. It would stay to bring back anything else they found. And if the bad bloods or humans ventured too far off the preserve, they would kill anyone in sight.

Rnk'ar and his two teammates took hold of it and hauled it off to the mothership.

De'Tuula was leading the other team. He seemed to be more still than the others before finally letting a whicker escape his mandibles.

Well done.

He stared at Salvak for a while before they turned around and disappeared around the edge of the forest.

Salvak stared back with intense eyes underneath his mask.

X'ol looked back, facing the forest, whipping its head back and forth slowly. Its dreads swaying

Something's wrong

—-

It pretended not to see him, that's a curious behavior.

Now he couldn't stop staring at it. It wouldn't win by turning a blind eye after very clearly seeing him.

Do you think you can get rid of me that easily, little ooman?

He stepped forward, crossing the invisible threshold her tiny foot paraphernalia had made between her and him.

Its breath caught in its mouth.

That's right ooman, come to your senses and run.

Its glare towards the tree right behind him could liquidize glass. It didn't move. It did not run, it barely fucking blinked. This was an interesting phenomenon.

Wouldn't it be most natural to get up, scream and run? (it doesn't have to be in that order either.) Back away and run without screaming? Or just stay still and scream in place?

That's how oomans were in the vods of other hunters, and that's how they reacted during his Chiva.

They took a look at him, the outline of something that wasn't supposed to be there, and ran. It was much worse when he wasn't camouflaged.

Why was this so different? Why was she shaking, trembling, but not cowering, not running away? Was it too afraid to scream, to run?

It almost took a jab at his ego.

It made him stare at her even harder. Tilting his head in confusion.

There was a reaction to his movement from the Ooman female. It stayed still, however, its body began shaking violently with fear. Yet its eyes stayed locked just outside his gaze.

He could hear the female audibly swallow. Then there was a pause.

Something made her snap her head over and suddenly look.

He was waiting, rather patiently, for her to run and scream. He purred, awaiting the satisfaction of just that. Now surely it would react

She glanced up at him by accident but held her gaze. This time that other emotion welled up from deep in its chest. She inhaled deeply, and the shakes seemed to subside for just a moment.

His mandibles clicked together, in annoyance.

What stimuli was it reacting to?

Then he heard a noise, just outside of the hearing frequencies of an Ooman.

His camouflage was buzzing strangely.

He looked down, at first, confused; he was invisible. Then he began to see parts of his camouflage glitching in and out in random places. The realization sank in once the light-bending technology seemed to 'roll' its lack of coverage around his body like liquid.

That little welp damaged his camouflage.

He growled slowly, before looking back down to the Ooman.

Their eyes locked onto each other.

Dark matter staring into a cosmic fire.

It put a hand on its chest.

Was it going to have a heart attack? die of fright?

She seemed to steady her breathing.

She wouldn't take her eyes off him now.

Something seemed to empower her fear and she leaned her body towards him, still staying against the safety of the tree. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape.

What was it doing?

He went to take a step forward when a scream halted him in his tracks.

Not a scream, a roar.

Katalic had found the trap and was on the move.

As if on queue, a strong hum emanated from the light-bending technology. His camo went back online. The rolling opaqueness of the camouflage faded and his body disappeared completely. Within minutes he was able to distance himself from the female and return to the pursuit of his traitorous prey.

Don't think you've won this, ooman.

I'll make you run.

And ill make you scream.

He hummed in the thought of the strange Ooman.

If fate would continue, he would be sure to run into it again.

Twice is an omen, three times is destiny.

He would make his meeting with her useful to him.

A/N

This chapter was a marriage between the writings of 2021 and 2023 Author Chan. Chapter 10 is already in the works, look for it soon.

-XOXO AuthorChan