The Unnatural Nature of the Game
Prologue: When Worlds Collide
All stories begin somewhere. Whether it’s in a bar, some guy’s room or a space station circling a planet not of our own, where it begins is almost as important as where it ends.
“Operator, state your name and purpose.”
Ours happens to start in a dimly lit circular room, where an operation was being planned. The outer rim may as well have been made of the deepest, darkest part of Hell for all you could see, and hidden in it were three men, tribunal officers, who would be dictating the actions of a single being, who stood illuminated under a faint, sickly yellow light.
The being, now known as Operator, stood in the center of the light, facing into the darkness before the outer edges of a wooden desk, behind which the three officers of the tribunal were standing. He stood at attention; with eyes forward, shoulders back, chest out and back straight, he was the very picture of military discipline.
“I cannot, sir. That information is unavailable to me.”
The middle officer nodded in acknowledgment of the answer.
“Are you capable of understanding why you are unable to do so?”
The Unnamed Operator nodded. “Yes, sir. My memories, concerning the events spanning from my creation to current, have been erased by a process of chemical alteration to the memory centers of my brain; the hippocampus specifically. This surgical operation was conducted ten days ago, at the eleventh hour of dawn.
“My temporal lobes have been further modified by a cerebral-digital interface connection, where a download from the Weapons and Combat Specialties subsection of the military database, commonly referred to as The Operator Archives, occurred six days ago, at the eighteenth hour of midday.
“Another download occurred two days ago -at the twentieth hour of dusk- from The Security and Intelligence Database; more specifically The Non-Native Xenological Species List: Aggressive. I was told by the Director of the Archives that the information was classified, and that I am unable to speak to civilians concerning any information that I acquired there.”
“Tell me, Operator”, the middle officer said, drawing the Operator’s attention to him, knowing that despite the low light, he could see them as clearly as the midday hours, “have you undergone any other procedures, medical or otherwise?”
“Yes sir. Four hours ago, at the eleventh hour of midday, I was given an injection of nano-devices, approximately 46.27 grams worth. The injection was to allow me absolute control of my digestive metabolism, allowing me to alter the speed at which my body processes high protein foods into electro-chemical energy, for both myself as well as the nano-machines within me. The machines also allow for me to regenerate tissue and bone as necessary.
“Also, during my WCS:OA download, I underwent a complete musculature electro-therapy, increasing my mental response times and physical reflex speeds to all known combat situations.”
The tribunal shared a few nods and knowing looks, before centering their attention back on the Operator.
“Operator, with the information that you have just given us, are you able to ascertain the reason as to why it is that you have been summoned before us?” the officer on the right asked.
“Yes, sir, I can”, he replied. “I am to be given a mission that concerns combating a known non-planetary alien species. The species, either singular or plural, are dangerous enough to require for the mission agent, myself, to undergo restricted physical and mental modifications. Finally, that I stand here alone before you, I believe that I am to act in much the same fashion for the duration of this mission.”
“Correct, on all accounts,” said the middle officer, “you will be “abducted” by Xeno-Species Designate: Predator, at the twenty first hour of dusk. Your gear has already been collected and sent to your berthing area. As it is the fourth hour of dawn, you will have fifty-nine hours until mission start.”
“Yes sir” the Operator replied, “what are my mission details?”
The tribunal shared a look between themselves before the left officer spoke, the look of disgust on his face was hidden by the shadows that enshrouded them, but the darkness did not hide it in his voice.
“Your mission is both simple in theory and unachievable in probability. You are to survive; for as long as you can, and in any way that you can. You are free to perform any acts that will aid in your survival, regardless of how unsavory they may be. That is all.”
The Unnamed Operator stood at attention expecting a dismissal shortly. He was unsure as to why he was being given a mission that had a zero percent chance of success; one that he was practically assured that he would not return from. Before his thoughts could trouble him any further, they were interrupted by the tribunal.
“Operator, are you aware of the reason as to why you are being given what boils down to a suicide mission?”
“No, sir, I do not. But my opinions were not asked for by this tribunal, and are irrelevant until such a time that they are requested by an officer of the tribunal, sir.”
“Noted, Operator. While your opinions would normally be immaterial to this tribunal, we – collectively – believe that you should know the reason you are being effectively sent to your death. Operator, twenty-three days ago, eleven hours after dusk, you were arrested for the crime of murder. three days after your arrest, you were convicted; convicted and sentenced to death by a jury of your peers, and, a bit cruelly in the minds of this tribunal, to have the memory of your life removed before your death sentence; erasing even the minute detail of why you are being sentenced to such a gruesome fate.
“Unfortunately, while it is the unanimous opinion of this tribunal that you are innocent of the crime that you were convicted of, ultimately we are unable to overturn the verdict.
“Instead, we have opted to increase your odds of survival by giving you restricted upgrades. It is the hope of this tribunal that you perform the one act that no one sent on this mission has ever done: escape the predators. To escape the Predators, and find a way home.
“Finally, we wish you to commit our last words to memory, Operator. Although the memories of your life have been stolen from you, it is the last wish of this tribunal that you know this one thing: You are innocent.
“Good luck, Operator. This tribunal hopes to one day see you again.
“Dismissed.”
Snapping off a sharp salute, dropping it only when it was returned and nodding respectfully to the three men, he made an about-face and marched out of the room.
As he made his way to his berthing, the Unnamed Operator had only two things on his mind.
The first being that death, for him, was almost assured. That left him with a warm feeling in his chest.
The second was that when he did die, he would do so as an innocent sentient being.
The warm feeling kind of died when that particular epiphany came to the forefront of his mind.
As soon as he got back to his berthing room, he found his kit bag waiting for him, just like the tribunal had said.
A quick unzip later and he saw what they had left him. Inside the bag were a wide variety of things that could only help in keeping him alive, many of which brought a smile to his face.
The first thing he pulled out was a black armored vest. The protective garment was made from a synthetic fabric, similar to human Kevlar, only denser and lighter. The fabric, called Shellick, was resistant to high velocity projectiles.
The thickness of the armor was 2.57 cm at its thickest, with the majority of its width being the ceramic plates that lay within the vest. Along with the plates, the vest’s protective abilities were further enhanced by side and shoulder guards, with the shoulder’s padding and plating thickness at a further 5.36 cm in width. Finally, Cavra, a Teflon-like lacquer, was bonded to the outer layer to further protect against slashing and stabbing weapons and polished to a dull black.
All in all, the vest would keep his torso relatively safe from most types of physical damage, such as claws, knives, and bullets, but energy based weapons, like the Predator’s plasma-caster, would tear through him as though he wasn’t even wearing armor at all.
Beneath the vest lay a series of pads for his legs, that would absorb impact, but little else. Their primary purpose was to take the most of the force of a bad landing. Finally, a feature that would enhance its usefulness even further, was the cargo pockets that could hold magazines and other things.
Under all that was a webbed belt, with pockets and pouches for spare rounds. It, much like the rest of the armor, was black.
There was no helmet or any other form of head protection, as there was very little defense against the majority of the weapons that a Predator would employ. That, and they valued skulls as prizes. Predators were less likely to harm a prey’s head than any other part of the body.
Beneath the armor were the weapons.
There were two that he was able to see at first, a pistol and an assault rifle; both of human make. He himself wasn’t human, but they were the only armaments his people had available planet-side.
The rifle came out first; an H&K G36C, which was a short barreled compact assault rifle. It fired a 5.56 caliber round and had a folding butt stock and forward grip. The rifle was perfect for CQC, as the Predator’s stealth capabilities, both in skill and technology, made long range combat unsavory for any prey they hunted on their game preserves.
The accessories for the G36C were four, 30 round capacity, plastic “Box” magazines that had an amazing feature of joining together two mags via a series of studs on one of the sides. By joining the magazines together it limited the time it took to reload by simply flipping the mag over and plugging in the conjoined magazine on the other side.
There were six boxes of rounds with 75 rounds per box, making that a grand total of 450 rounds.
The pistol was an H&K Mk.23 Mod.0, also called the SOCOM. It fired a .45 ACP round, a bullet that had the power to slow down a Predator, but not much else. Their higher muscle density, and secondary and tertiary redundant physiological systems, made them even tougher to kill.
Its accessories included four 12 round magazines, six boxes of ammunition with fifty rounds per box, 300 rounds total. The barrel, he noticed, was threaded on the end, which meant that there should be a suppressor or silencer somewhere in the bag. And…there it was. A 22mm metal tube lay atop a change of clothes. The last thing he saw of note in the bag, other than the clothes, was a cleaning kit that would work for both weapons.
Preparing to fill his mags, he lifted the bag to put it on the floor, when he noticed a level of rigidity in the bottom that shouldn’t have been there. Digging under the clothes, he pulled out two knives.
The first was a black, 3 in. folding tonto blade. It had a pointed tip, much like an isosceles triangle, instead of a curved edge that made it a greater close range stabbing weapon.
The other knife was a 16 in. machete styled blade. The edge was razor sharp and curved at the tip, while it’s back edge had twenty-two serrated, saw-like teeth that could be used for a variety of purposes.
As he unsheathed the 16 incher, a note, a small piece of paper that was folded over twice, fell out. Sheathing what was effectively a short sword, and putting it with the rest of the weapons, he picked it up read it.
Look under your bunk,
Δ
Crumpling the paper in his hands, he rushed under his bed and pulled out a small square box about 46 cm wide and tall.
Popping open the lid, the contents of the box brought smile to his face that he was hard pressed to remove.
126 Hours Later
He didn’t remember falling asleep. Well, he didn’t remember falling asleep during the later dusk hours, anyway. When you lived on a planet that had 63 hour days, you slept at least twice a day.
Well, he was sure most people did. His memories only went back a little over eleven days, and only really knew what was downloaded into his brain, so he didn’t exactly have a lot of actual experience to go on.
The last thing he could remember before dropping out, was going for a walk through the residential area of the military base he was in, with the intent on getting something to eat at the galley at around sixteen hours after dusk, and then…
Regardless, at the moment it didn’t matter too much what he did or didn’t remember, as it still wouldn’t explain why he was pulling what was effectively a HALO drop over a forest.
This was, of course -according to what he knew about the creatures that would eventually kill him, which was substantial- quite wrong.
The Predators: true species name is unknown. This hyper-aggressive species did not actually call themselves anything, so the title “Predator” was given to them as a whole. While they are known for their hunting prowess, the fact that they often eat some of their prey, and their propensity to eat only meat, made Predator a more apt name than hunter.
That, and it sounds more intimidating.
Objectives: Hunt the most aggressive of the most aggressive species around the galaxy.
There are two primary ways that they hunt their prey:
- Hunt down their prey on its native planet. More often than not, this is the preferable way in which they operate, and by preferable, it is inferred that the Predators find this arrangement favorable. The prey…not so much. They hunt both sentient and non-sentient species, male, female or otherwise. The only thing that matters to them is how dangerous their prey is. The more dangerous they are, the higher their rank, amongst their peers and clan leaders, would go up when they acquired and killed their target.
When they hunt their prey on its native planet, they do so alone; that is, they hunt alone, but they tend to have several overseers to watch how well they hunt, how elusive the prey is, and compare the quality of this target versus others of its species in the past.
The outcome of the hunt dictates what happens to the Predator. If the hunter survives and claims many trophies, he will raise to the next tier of game. If he dies, depending on how he died will determine what happens to the prey.
To hunt the prey on its native planet was the preferred method of one of the two types of Predator. This type tends to fight honorably, killing only those that have a means and a will to defend themselves. They never kill defenseless targets, as this is considered to be an inferior kill.
If the hunter was killed by a group, then they remain fair game and will be hunted until they are all killed. If instead the hunter was killed by a single member of the prey’s species, then it has earned the right to live, and will be left alone.
Of all possible game in the universe, human beings are widely considered to be one of the two top tier levels of game. The second being another created species; the xenomorphs*, the bane of every sentient species around the universe.
Considering the fact that the unnamed Operator’s species was protected by various powers due to the nature of their creation, including the species that created the Predators themselves, this option was unavailable. Instead, they are usually given a list of targets that are safe for being hunted, which are always criminals –political or otherwise-, and they are sent to an area of the planet to be “abducted”.
Such was the case with him.
- The second way to hunt was to take a group of targets from their home planet and take them to a game preserve planet, where they would be hunted until all of them were dead. This was the primary method of the larger, and considerably crueler part of the Predator species.
These larger Predators disregard their smaller brethren’s “honorable” way of hunting, and preferred to simply kill whatever, whenever. They did not differentiate between capable and incapable targets, only living and dead ones.
While they do hunt according to a set code of honor, it is significantly different from the code that the smaller types familiarize themselves with by a rather large margin.
When hunting this way, they are in groups of three, always. No overseers, just hunters.
When a team member dies, there are no new additions, and when an entire team is wiped out, they send down another team with another group of targets for the hunt. There is no rest for the survivors of the previous team, only the perpetual hunt.
There is no survival for these dangerous few that were chosen to die. For the Operator, the next planet he woke up on would be most likely be where he would die.
He would of course fight it with every skill, every bullet, and every ounce of himself that he could muster. Eventually, though, he would die. And at that point, he would be nothing; nothing but a skull on the wall. And then another cycle would start, with new targets, and he would be forgotten for the next hunt.
All the while, the cycle continues.
Forever unbroken.
At the moment, he wasn’t thinking about unbroken circles.
No, at the moment the Unnamed Operator was wondering why everything felt so wrong.
And then something hit him, hard, and there was only black.
Fluttershy was in excruciating pain.
She’d been on her way back to Ponyville from Appleloosa, having answered a veterinary call; an aging country heiress’ cat had come down with something and wouldn’t stop throwing up hair-balls. She was suffering from two maladies that worked very well against her.
She had the flu, and was in dire need of a brushing. One compounded the other, and the end result was a very nasty mess, and a very miserable looking cat.
One thorough brushing and some soup later, and little Charlotte was as right as rain. The heiress had been exultant with joy and had showered Fluttershy with mountainous praise, and even offered her more bits than the job was worth.
After being offered every manner of hospitality that she could afford, which was simply awe inspiring for the modest pony, Fluttershy eventually managed to leave the company of the heiress with the promise of a checkup in the near future, and a heavy bag of bits that she couldn’t say no to.
Literally. The heiress simply wouldn’t hear of it! Why in her eyes, Fluttershy had been a gift from Princess Celestia herself, as she had come from on high and saved her precious Charlotte!
In any case, while the trip to Appleloosa was unremarkable in every way, the same could not be said for the return flight back to Ponyville, which was going nowhere near as smooth. She’d made it out of Appleloosa and was over the Everfree Forrest when the strangest things began to happen.
Fluttershy had been having a good flight so far, playfully trotting through the cloudless sky, her forelegs cantering out of sync with her wings, humming a jaunty little tune to herself, when she heard a series of very loud explosions in the skies around her. She stopped midair, her wings keeping her at a hover, looking for what caused the noise.
Next she felt a wave of…something…pass over her, something she couldn’t even begin to describe. It felt like, well, she didn’t know what it felt like, having never felt such a sensation before…
Another series of explosions rocked the air around her, and she was fast becoming afraid. There were no clouds in the sky, so that ruled thunder out, there were no pegasi in the sky either, other than her of course, so that meant no sonic booms.
She raised her hoo…hands? Yes, hands, that’s what they’re called. Her arms terminated in hands, and her legs in hooves.
However did she forget that? She must be tired. After all, she’d flown to Appleloosa and taken care of a sick cat and was now halfway back to Ponyville after all. Anypony would be tired after that.
She raised her shaky hands to her mouth, trying to hold in her screams but little squeaks were still managing to escape. She looked around rapidly, eyes darting here and there, trying to find out what it was that was causing all this terrifying noise-
[THRAK-KA-KRAKA-THRAKA-BOOM!]
The thunderous explosion sounded like it was right above her, and when she heard it she did the only thing that came to mind.
She bolted.
She flew as hard and as fast as her wings would allow, making a beeline for Ponyville and the safety of her little cottage; more specifically under the thick blankets on her bed.
Another explosion erupted above her, this one different from the rest.
While the others sounded like rolling thunder, this one sounded like that one fireworks accident she saw when she was a filly. Nobody was hurt, thankfully, but the noise had been terrifying.
This explosion was also different in the fact that she could feel heat coming from behind her, and the temperature was rising.
Her wings were beating in overtime, rivaling that of a humming bird, as she tried to escape what she was fast believing to be a fiery demise. Tears began to flow from the corners of her eyes, the wind brushing them away as fast as she wept them.
She was so scared! The heat was increasing, almost to the point where she could almost feel the bottoms of her hooves being singed and she wanted to go faster, but her wings could only beat so fast! And the smell! Great Celestia, that horrible, oily, greasy burning stench was filling her nostrils and increasing the level of her fear astronomically!
And the NOISE! It was getting LOUDER! SO LOUD THAT SHE COULDN’T THINK ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN FLYING AS FAST AS SHE COULD! IT WAS NOW A RUMBLING CACOPHONY, LIKE AN ENORMOUS BOULDER ROLLING DOWN THE SIDE OF A TALL MOUNTAIN! IT STARTED SO LOW, BUT WAS GETTING LOUDER AND LOUDER! AND THEN A WHINE LIKE AN UNGREASED AND RUSTING WAGON WHEEL! IT WAS GETTING SO LOUD THAT SHE WAS BEGINNING TO HOPE THAT SHE WENT DEAF BEFORE IT GOT ANY LOUDER!
DEAR CELESTIA, PLEASE HELP! IT’S GETTING LOUDER, AND HOTTER, AND SMELLIER AND SCARIER AND-
And then it started cooling down. The heat began passing from behind her to below her, and the noise was getting quieter and quieter, and the smell was beginning to go away and everything was slowly calming down, and as she was calming down, she began slowing down, until finally she stopped, her wings fully extended and riding the thermals to keep her in the air.
She was shaking, badly, as she watched whatever it was that flying behind her, burning and exploding, continuing on ahead of her, descending rapidly to the forest below, a few hundred yards in front of her, where it crashed with a deafening explosion. An enormous fireball erupted from the wreckage, blowing back the tall, thick trees around the impact site for several hundred feet around it.
Whatever it was, it’s nothing more than a smoldering crater now.
As she floated above the wreck, she pulled in her shaking, sweating limbs and wept with relief, the wind flapping the hem of her white sundress randomly. Her tears ran over her nose and down her muzzle, comingling with the mucous from her nose and spittle from her uncontrollable sobs.
Fluttershy had never been so scared in all her life! She couldn’t believe that she managed to outrun that, that whatever it was! It was moving so fast and she was so scared and-
She took a deep breath and held it for several long moments, letting it out slowly, trying to send her tension with it.
It worked.
A little.
“I-It’s o-o-over now,” Fluttershy whispered to herself, shaking a little less, but with her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. “I-It’s a-all, a-all over now.”
Finally recovering enough from her ordeal to be on some semblance of normalcy, she continued to make her way back to
Ponyville, to take a shower and fall asleep for the next week!
As she flew, the wreckage below her continued to burn and pop; with the winds having died down for now, there wasn’t much worry that the blaze would spread much farther than it already had, which couldn’t have been more than two or three hundred feet in diameter.
Fluttershy would have used a cloud to douse the inferno, but there weren’t any clouds near, and she didn’t have enough energy to deal with it. She’d just tell Rainbow Dash about it, and she knew the cyan Pegasus would take care of it in two shakes of a mare’s tail.
As she continued to make her way back home, there was another sound of rolling thunder, and once again she couldn’t find the source.
‘Where is that coming from?!’, she thought frantically to herself, looking around wildly to see if she could move out of the way of whatever manifested itself from out of nowhere and tried to crash into her.
[THRAK-KA-KRAKA-
Before it could even finish rolling, Fluttershy was already on the move, her wings beating a hasty retreat, but not nearly as fast as before. The muscles that joined her wings to her back were screaming in pain, but she wouldn’t let that slow her down any more than she was able to ignore.
There was a loud popping noise, several popping noises now, some distance above her followed by a whooshing noise, like when Rainbow Dash rocketed past her at her fastest, blowing by the moderate speeds that she herself was used to.
Fluttershy looked up as she painfully flapped her wings, and froze. Somepony was falling fast, wearing a lot of weird stuff, and they were…were…
They were flying right at her!
[KRUNCH!]
Author's Note
NOTES:
*} This is, of course, following the Predator movies and not the recently added lore to the Aliens franchise via the movie Prometheus. In Predators 2, toward the end of the film in the Predator ship you can see the bleached skulls of several xenomorphs in the background, making some of what I do in this story still canon in a way.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the first submission of this story!
Until next time!
