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Full Contact	By : LemonCrisis Category: M through R > Predator Views: 2486 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Predator or Aliens, nor the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Mor'che had just curled his large taloned fingers around the handle of the vehicle door when the first projectile struck him square in the back.
He snarled, ringed dreadlocks whipping as he spun around, mask searching for the culprit of the dishonourable attack. As he did so, another projectile smacked him straight in his mask, making a wet splatting sound as it impacted. His mask located several heat signatures, locking on to one, and Mor'che realised what exactly was being shot at him. Sticky golden liquid ran down the front of his mask, dripping onto his broad chest.
Growling in anger, Mor'che swiped the back of a clawed hand across his mask, removing the offending pulped fruit and flicking it off to one side in one fluid movement. A sticky residue now covered the metal of his mask, tarnishing the matte black, and cold syrupy juice trickled through the holes of his mesh vest. He was fast losing patience with his 'attacker'.
"C'jit" He snarled. It would take forever to clean the tacky mess off.
He used his mask's log to locate the heat signatures it had detected, and found the culprits. A group of monkeys had assembled on one of the lower branches of the tree the ooman vehicle had rebounded off. They seemed to be rather agitated – several of them were bouncing up and down. Once they saw they'd been spotted, disorderly screaming emanated from their direction, accompanied by more furious leaping around and gesticulating. Mor'che realised they had probably been sleeping when the vehicle had clipped their tree. Relaxing, he chittered to himself in amusement. They were no threat.
As he began to turn his back on them, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his vision. One of the monkeys was just lifting an arm, presumably another fruit clutched in its furred hand. Growling a warning, Mor'che glared at the primate, daring it to piss him off. The monkey, oblivious to the warning, promptly proceeded to lob the fruit at Mor'che. One of the Yautja's mandibles twitched in annoyance under his mask, and he deftly caught the fruit in mid air. Resisting the urge to close his fist around the fruit and crush it, Mor'che instead threw it back at the monkey. Hard. The unfortunate creature was knocked off its haunches by the impact to land stunned and with limbs sprawled on the mossy branch. Sticky fruit juices matted the fur on its forehead, looking almost like blood in the limited light. The rest of the monkeys scattered, screeching in alarm and leaving their twitching comrade to its fate.
Mor'che snorted as he turned his attention back to the ooman. He clamped his fingers around the handle of the vehicle door and wrenched it open. It had buckled in the crash and came off in his hand entirely. It was effortlessly tossed aside, skidding across the forest floor, exposing a damp, dark trail as it scuffed up the thin top litter.
Reaching in with one hand while the other gripped the top frame of the vehicle, Mor'che grasped the ooman by her shoulder. His hand seemed huge in comparison to the tiny creature. He gave a careful tug, and when she didn't budge he peered closer. She appeared to be held in place by a restraint strap, and some kind of puffy white balloon had cushioned her face and torso. He tried to press it back to better reach the ooman, but it didn't want to move. Wasting no time, he flexed his wrist and his blades slid out, cold and gleaming. He stabbed the tips into the material to perforate it, then tried pressing it down again. It began to slowly deflate, making a god-awful squeaking noise as it did so. Mor'che growled peevishly and slashed at the annoying thing, shredding it within seconds. Then he turned the blades on the restraint strap. They cut through it as if it was made of paper.
Reaching in again, Mor'che gripped the little ooman's shoulders and gave another tug. This time she budged, and he managed to pull her out, her legs sliding loosely over the leather seat. As gently as possible, Mor'che slipped one brawny arm under her shoulders and another behind her knees, tilting her slightly so that her head rested against his chest. She lay limp in his arms and he paused suddenly.
Now what?
He glanced down at her, so vulnerable as she lay there. She weighed nothing to him.
He shifted the ooman slightly in his arms. It would be hard running whilst holding her like that, even as agile as he was. Truth be told, he was tempted to sling her unconscious form over his shoulder, but he didn't know the full extent of her injuries yet and doing so could inadvertently damage her even more. Turning, he began the trek back to where his ship lay cloaked. Kicking off at an easy run, he loped along, trying not to make it too bumpy.
As Mor'che ran he shielded the little ooman from the odd stray piece of vegetation that whipped past. Apart from the steamy heat, that was one of the things he liked about jungles; the canopy was always nice and high up. No low growing trees or thick vegetation to impede his movements. The only difficult thing was finding a place to land his ship in the middle of the dense forest, away from the more populated and deforested areas. He'd got lucky this time, finding a small clearing just big enough to tuck his ship in. The surrounding forest had been relatively untouched, with just a road winding through connecting a few small local villages together.
He increased his pace as he neared the area where his ship was concealed, eager to be rid of this ooman as soon as he could before any more trouble was caused. Although he had to admit to himself he was curious about her. He'd never seen an ooman female up close properly before, only from a distance, and this was an ideal opportunity to study one.
Realising his thoughts were travelling down a dangerous path, he jerked his mind back to the task at hand. Mor'che entered the small clearing where he had hidden his ship. Booted feet crunching softly on the ground, he stooped and gently laid the ooman down on the floor with her back resting against the trunk of a tree. As she lay there oblivious to her surroundings, nestled between two huge tree roots, she looked so small and fragile. Tearing his fascinated eyes away from the ooman, he pressed a couple of buttons on his wrist computer and his ship's cloak melted away, revealing a decent sized matte black craft. Mor'che pressed another button and a ramp slid smoothly down to the ground from underneath the main hatch.
Stooping again, he carefully scooped up the unconscious ooman. Her head lolled in the crook of his arm, and he could feel her light breath against his skin. He could kill this little ooman with one bare hand. It was a wonder their species managed to survive, even with their intelligence. But even as the thought formed in his head he dismissed it, having hunted oomans before on several occasions he knew they were not to be taken lightly.
Padding over to the ramp, he scented the air before ascending. It smelt like rain. In the distance there was a rumble of thunder - another storm was on the way. Mor'che ducked into his ship under the low hatchway. Straightening on the other side, he was met by the cold, dark metal of his ship's stark innards. Pivoting on his heel, he extended a clawed finger and lifted his ooman-filled arms until he could depress the hatch control button. With a hiss, the ramp retracted and the hatch slid closed. Another stab of a different button re-engaged the cloak.
Now shut off from the encroaching storm, Mor'che proceeded down the barren corridor, his boots clomping on the metal grill of the floor. Passing by a couple of plain unmarked doors, he came to a halt in front of a third. Again he lifted his ooman-filled arms so he could activate the controls for this door, too. It swished open, revealing a smallish room. Sparsely furnished, it contained only a large metal table and some storage lockers containing medical supplies.
Stepping over the threshold, Mor'che placed the ooman carefully down on the table. Being made for his species and not oomans, it dwarfed her small frame. His glaive was unfastened and leaned up against one of the walls after he quickly inspected the blade with a critical eye. It didn't appear to have been damaged, unlike his plasma caster. He went to reach for his mask out of habit, but paused. It was probably better if he left it on, just in case. The last thing he needed was a freaking out Ooman.
Working quickly now, Mor'che began to check for injuries. Running firm hands along her body, he first checked for any broken bones or obvious wounds. After a few moments he grunted to himself, pleased - as far as he could tell she seemed fine. To make sure, Mor'che went over to one of the lockers, pulled it open and withdrew a small medical scanner. Glancing down at the screen, he pressed a few buttons and tweaked the settings slightly to allow for the difference in their species. Frowning in concentration, he held the flashing scanner over the female. After a few seconds, it beeped a negative. Nodding to himself, Mor'che switched it off and put it back in the locker.
She was one lucky ooman. No permanent or dangerous damage had been detected.
Surprisingly, he found himself reluctant to do anything now he had assessed her medical state. He needed to decide what to do with this witness, but instead continued to stare at her pale skin and the dusting of darker sprinkles that covered her cheekbones. She really was quite short, even for an ooman. Still staring, he found himself almost wanting her to wake up. He'd never interacted with an ooman before - unless you counted killing them, he thought wryly - and he had found himself infinitely curious about them. Oomans were considered to be one of the best prey, but only because of a combination of their intelligence, quick learning and their primitive technology, not their physical strength.
As he watched, her fingers twitched and her strange face pulled into what looked like a frown before she released a long sigh and began to stir.
"Pauk!" He swore to himself under his breath. He had wasted too much time. He briefly considered clonking her over the head with something, but in the end he could only stand there as her eyes opened groggily, resigned to the fact that she would see him, and yes, he would have to deal with the consequences. Some part of him had hoped to put off the inevitable decision of what to do with her, but fate it seemed had other ideas.
He groaned inwardly as her vague and unfocused eyes slowly took in her surroundings, and then landed on him. She blinked several times, obviously having some difficulty focusing. He looked back at her grey eyes through his mask, trying not to move, some crazy part of his brain hoping that perhaps she wouldn't see him and just fall back into unconsciousness. His hopes were in vain, though. Her eyes widened suddenly and she gawked at him, her confusion written plainly across her face. That quickly changed to fear however, when she focused a bit better. She shakily sat up, took a deep breath, and opened her mouth.
Mor'che braced himself. He had only heard an ooman female scream once, and it was not at all pleasant.
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