They’d buy a crate of half-tame birds and then loose them into the grounds around their hunting camp, then pick them off one by one. When you were young, your father and his brothers used to quail hunt. The humans you dropped in with-all of them elite fighters, from the looks, save the one smaller white guy. The giant planet that seems to be empty save for the creatures dropped in via parachutes. You had put it together piece by piece over the past days (weeks?). The alien, though on this world, you suppose you are the alien. The air in front of you shimmers and you think it’s the heat of the day, but then there’s a couple of beeps, and it comes into startling, terrifying view. A chittering sound, like an insect might make….if insects were huge. You do your best to clean your wounds in the river, but infection sets in and you grow feverish, sluggish, crazed with heat. It’s any of the handful of cuts all over your body. It’s your ankle with the nub of broken bone sticking out of your skin, a sight so distressing that you can’t look at it without getting faint. You know you are going to die on this planet, so far from home, but you wonder if any of the creatures being dropped are going to be the ones to kill you. You catch sight of parachutes in the sky, but you can’t worry about them. When you startle awake again, it’s because of an explosion in the sky-a spaceship exploding into a fireball. It’s night and you’ve fallen asleep but there’s flickering orange over the nearest ridge. You swear you can smell smoke, and underneath it you catch the phantom scent of barbeque, of smoked meats, of charred vegetables with a balsamic glaze, of rich red wines and crisp white ones, of heavy cakes that lie sweet and rich on the tongue, washed down with coffee so dark it makes your toes curl… Your stomach has stopped growling, but you hallucinate food. You manage to tear up some saplings to lay across the rock face, giving you some scant camouflage. You manage to clumsily kneel in the mud and you drink and drink and drink until you throw it all up. Other things have been dropped here-big things that required cages. You pass giant metal containers with deflated, tangled parachutes. You’d throw up but your stomach is empty, so it only cramps painfully until you get away from the smell. You pass another human, a corpse that looks like it’s been there a while. The planet is hot and humid and you sweat so much, and your mouth takes on a desperately dry, sticky quality. You can do without food for quite a while, but water becomes a problem. Then a second moon, and later that night, a third. Moments later, the moon appears over the ridge. The stars are in configurations that you’ve never seen before, and your first thought is that you’re in the southern hemisphere. The first night, you make it to the edge of the jungle just as darkness falls.

You have no idea where you are, but some primal part of your brain is activated: you are in danger, and every cell in your body knows it. In the distance, you hear screams, snarls. You hobble through the jungle and every step is fraught. You create a rough splint for your ankle, and then you find another, sturdier stick that is forked at the end: a rough crutch. You snap a few sticks, tear off the bottom hem of your shirt. You were a Girl Scout, so you know basic first aid. You’re scared and hurt and you have no idea where you are.īut once you’re done, you swipe away your tears and try to come up with a plan. You wait until they are out of earshot to start crying. “We’ll come back for you,” promises the woman, but she doesn’t meet your eye when she says it.

“She’d only slow us down,” says the one man. You snap your ankle, and the pain that lances through you is so sharp, so urgent, that you finally realize that you aren’t dreaming at all. You crash through the tree cover and land in the underbrush, hard. You’re in a parachute, and it engages just a beat too late. It doesn’t stop the Yautja from making the mistake, which is why you wake up suddenly.

The only things you’ve ever killed are centipedes and a squirrel once that ran under your tires as you drove down the street. When they kidnap a number of elite soldiers and killers from Earth to hunt, you somehow get swept up too. Originally posted by life-or-something-like-ltĬW: Talk of injuries and illness talk of death yearning.

Alien vs predator fanfic worthy prey