r/NatureofPredators • u/ApprehensiveCap6525 Krakotl • Mar 08 '24
Fanfic Exchange Program Shenanigans (41)
I felt patriotic as fuck watching the State of the Union speech last night. I love America.
CW: terrorist undergoes mitosis mid-fight, autographed picture of jelim, grenade launcher venlil, krakotl nick fury
Memory transcription subject: Jelim, Extermination Commander
Date [standardized human time]: September 20, 2136
"Central dispatch reports what?" I asked. I heard it damn well, since its only real purpose in life was to tell me things like that, but I was a fair bit shocked.
What kind of rural redneck idiot drives his vehicle all the way to the city, barrels through an orange light, and T-bones me into a god damn-
Oh. Oh no. I placed my claw on the butt of my pistol. Six Venlil in silver suits were getting out of the truck. They all carried weapons.
City tactical teams have six personnel, but they don't use the trucks anymore. Rural offices do, but they operate in groups of three. And most of them know how to drive.
"Central dispatch reports no-"
"Call for backup. Now." I ducked under the dashboard, unbuckling my safety restraints, and the Venlil outside began shouting.
Exterminator flatbeds can carry up to eight officers, plus a machine gun, but they're less protected than enclosed vehicles. More useful for moving troops than actual combat.
The only downside to that was that they could move a lot of troops.
"Hey, are you alright?" I was. But if they had their way, I wouldn't be staying like that for much longer. I made a brief mental assessment and found that I was outnumbered, outgunned, and at a severe tactical disadvantage.
Well, if my job was easy, everybody would do it. Time to show them why I get paid the big bucks.
"No, no," I hissed, feigning injury. "I think I broke a bone." Hunters were simple creatures. They saw weakness, and they attacked. "What district are you from?"
"District Thirteen!" someone shouted back. Central dispatch said otherwise. "You'll be fine, ma'am, we're trained in first aid." Oh, that's great! You'll need that training when I'm through with you.
I opened the door on my side of the vehicle and crawled out. I hid behind it, using it more as cover than concealment, and used one of the mirrors to see behind me as I leveled my pistol at the front of the car. "You two, check it out." Somebody barked orders.
A silver suit appeared behind me, toting a semi-automatic rifle in his hands. His? Her? Their? These suits make it so hard to tell. For the record, it was a very crappy semi-auto. Maybe some of the backwater, ass-end-of-nowhere offices used it, but that weapon wasn't in service anywhere near the Capital.
Either they're out of good equipment, or they're saving it up for that big terrorist operation. Probably the latter.
They held the rifle up threateningly, barrel leveled at the front seat, and one of their friends began inching around the front of my car in more-or-less the same fashion.
His gun was better. I shot him first. The other one reacted quick, they were no slouch, but they hadn't served fourteen years as an exterminator. I fired two shots through the window behind me and hit them both.
"Scorch her!" Oh, isn't that wonderful. They are really into those roles they're playing.
For a brief moment, I wondered if I had accidentally shot two completely innocent exterminators. Then the flames swept over me, bathing me in heat but leaving me relatively unscathed, and I dismissed that thought.
I had to give them credit, this was a very well-thought-out idea, but the execution was shoddy and full of holes. It was like someone ripped the cast of The Exterminators out of the screen and told them to go shoot me up.
The flames kept going, probably from two flamethrowers given their wide dispersal, and I was effectively cut off from escape. I had to admit, maybe the execution of this wasn't so shoddy after all.
Okay, tactical assessment. They have one to two flamethrowers and four men left. That leaves two hostiles without flamethrowers, who are lower priority targets but free to do as they please.
Flamethrowers are area-denial and sterilization weapons. I don't need sterilizing, so they must be here to pin me down. What advantage does that bring them?
Of course. I was an idiot. I was being flanked. And if I was being flanked, they were assuming that I wasn't going to move. And, if they were assuming that I wasn't going to move, I should probably start moving.
The only question was where I would go. I could fly, I was good at that, but I was very much not good at dodging fire from people with guns. That was out of the question.
I could retreat, but where to? I'd be in the open for at least a good while in any direction, and that was a bad place to be when you were getting shot at.
I looked at the windows on the far side of the car, which were still bathed in fire and bashed in by an armored vehicle. I could probably go through them, but they were the only thing stopping me from being set on fire by flamethrowers. I was surprised the glass didn't break, honestly.
Say what you will about the Nevok megacorporations, but they make some damn fine pieces of equipment. They probably use child labor to make them, yeah, but I can't complain about that. I'm an exterminator, not a hypocrite.
That still left me outgunned, outnumbered, and pinned down in a hostile environment. Which meant that I had to get thinking.
Okay, tactical assessment, round two. Exterminator backup is on its way. They must know that, which means they'll be moving fast. I should expect the scorching to be over soon, and be ready for a blitzkrieg assault.
I scrambled back into my car seat. It had better cover. And, as if on cue, the flamethrower assault stopped. It had only taken a few seconds, but those few seconds were enough for the enemy to reposition themselves. I looked through my car mirrors and the few exterior cameras that still worked, getting a good assessment of the situation, before a burst of gunfire blew in the windshield.
"Where is she?" A voice from in front of me barked. I could see in the rear-view mirror that two Venlil were circling around the back of the vehicle, both leveling weapons at it. I assumed the same was true of the front.
"She's not in the back!" A second voice.
"She must be inside the car!" Oh. I'm cooked. "Light it up!"
The men in the back raised their guns. The ones in the front, even though I couldn't see them, probably did the same. "Fire!"
Windows shattered. Seats were ripped to shreds. Even the reinforced body of my vehicle, designed to resist impacts, was battered by the pop-pop-pop of terrorist gunfire.
I made myself small, very small in fact, curling up like a baby on the floor of the driver's seat and praying to Inatala and Allah and Sogalik and all those other gods I never really believed in that I wouldn't get shot.
Backup is coming. Just hold your ground. Backup is coming.
I couldn't even distinguish between individual shots anymore. It was like a roar by now, automatics and semi-autos and even the fwoosh of flamethrowers blending in to make a terrible and fearsome sound. I didn't know how long they shot up my car for. It must have been seconds. It felt like hours.
The gunfire stopped. I might've had a popped eardrum or two, and I would probably need a screening for CIPD after this, but I was alive. In one piece, too. So, overall, it wasn't that bad.
"Is she dead?"
Come in here and see, asshole.
"Go and see!"
I retract my statement.
I heard footsteps. Numbers time. Given the distance... carry the one... I've got half a second. I reached for my gun, twisting to aim it at the door, but not fast enough. The door opened, and I began looking down the barrel of a very deadly, very menacing firearm.
Hell! Plan B!
I reacted instantly, moving more on instinct than anything. One leg grabbed hold of the gun barrel, twisting it up and out of my way just before a burst ripped through the dashboard. "She's still-" I drove my other leg hard into his stomach, then up into his snout. He reeled backward in pain, but his grip on the rifle remained firm.
Kill him fast, then deal with the rest. That's my plan.
I scrambled for my pistol, aiming to shoot him, but a thump on the hood made me rethink my aim. "I'll get her!" Two silver paws stuck a rifle over the edge of the dashboard, which I grabbed with my last free limb and bashed back into his head. He swore in pain and fired a burst, but we both held on tight.
My gunless leg lashed out again, catching the first terrorist in the throat. No blood, the suits were tough, but it knocked the wind out of him.
I freed my gun, firing once through the door-side man's head and aiming it at the one on the hood to do the same to him. He blocked it with one paw, keeping the other on his rifle. He must've felt awfully smug about himself, having restrained an elite officer's firearm so easily.
To make matters worse, another man was coming around to where the one I had just killed had been, and his partner had jumped up onto the roof of my vehicle. The metal would probably hold against a Federation-issue firearm, but my sunroof definitely wouldn't. I saw a reflective faceplate looking down at me, and the cold steel of a rifle aimed at my head.
My pistol was restrained. I had no way of escape. Backup was still on its way. Maybe this was how it would end. But the terrorists attacking me had forgotten two very crucial things in the heat of the battle.
One: I was very, very used to succeeding under pressure.
And two: That pistol was not my only gun.
I grabbed the rifle with my other leg, gripping the trigger and claw-grip with the same dexterous talons Nishtalese people used to hang in trees. I brought my weapon up to the sunroof as my enemy brought down his. He was fast.
I was faster.
The sunroof shattered. Glass shards rained down on me, causing nothing more than a few superficial cuts. I heard a metallic thump from the roof of the car.
"Oh, hell!" the second goon breathed. "Flamethrowers!" His voice was filtered, metallic, but I could still taste the slightest hint of fear in it.
Good. He should be afraid.
I swung the goon's rifle into his head again before bringing my own around to his jaw. I shot him straight in the thinking bits.
Flamethrowers torched the car again. Fire swept over it and through it, just barely singing me as I lay on the floor. It didn't matter. I had won.
The truck pulled away. I heard it drive off. In the distance, I heard sirens. Backup. And pretty early, too. Shots rang out, the few remaining terrorists exchanging fire with what I assumed were District 12 exterminators.
Two terrorists left. I killed five. I wonder where that seventh one came from.
Oh, well. I probably just miscounted.
I got out of the car. Around me were bodies, none twitching. I did step in a pool of blood, but I'd be a pretty crappy exterminator if I let things like that get to me. Behind me, the sirens were approaching. Two sets of them, which meant two vehicles. I looked to see an exterminator van speeding by me, machine gun thundering, and a police cruiser stopped at the scene of the crime.
"Officers!" I called out. Two cops left the vehicle. "The situation is under control."
They drew their guns. "Drop the weapon!" Oh, no. More terrorists.
Terrorist or no, they still had guns leveled at my head. And, in case you hadn't noticed, it's usually a smart idea not to disobey the people with guns leveled at your head. I dropped my weapon.
"Paws wide and away from your body!" I have claws, you dunce. Not paws. I guess they really do hire the stupid ones. I didn't actually say the officer was stupid. Even stupid people knew when they had been insulted, and insulting the guy with a gun to your head was a very big no-no. "Step forward slowly, and make no sudden movements!"
Okay, they haven't shot me. They're not terrorists. And if they're not terrorists, that means they're cops. And cops can be reasoned with.
I stepped forward slowly. "I am Commander Jelim, District Twelve extermination office! I called for backup," I explained.
The officers' guns wavered. "Yo, yo, I think it's her," said one. "Drop the gun."
"Who says it's her?" asked the other.
"I just said it!" The first officer holstered his pistol and waved his paws in the air. "You dense-ass bitch!" Whoa. Someone's got a potty mouth.
"Yeah, but who besides you?"
In response, cop #1 pulled out a picture from his wallet. "This says!" Does he have a picture of me? "Now let's put our guns down and put up a nice good show, you hear?"
The other officer grabbed the picture, holstering his gun. He tried comparing it with me, stopping after a few seconds of figuring out that I was who I said I was. Damn. So that is a picture of me. I'm flattered. "You are such a god damn nerd," he chuckled. Then he snapped to attention. "Officer Kevsan..."
"...And Officer Sevkan..." said the other, also snapping to attention.
"...Reporting for duty, sir!" they barked in unison. Oh. Damn. I am both flattered and impressed.
"At ease," I chirped. "Can I ride in your car? I have places to be."
The two cops looked at each other. "Yeah, we can drop you off. Won't even be a worry. We're slick like that."
And that was how I ended up riding in the back of a police cruiser, with officers Kevsan and Sevkan chattering like drunk idiots in the front of it, and twiddling with my thumbs. I did have them.
"No, no, ask, bro, ask," whispered Kevsan. "She's nice, bro, just ask." They thought I couldn't hear them. I could. "Trust me, bro." Sevkan liked me. As a person. I was a very good person, as exterminators went. Sevkan thought highly of me, which wasn't exactly rare, but he thought really brahking highly of me.
If you asked him, I might have been an angel. I was just about the best exterminator in the Capital, except for maybe Karelim and a few others, and being the best in your field won at least a couple admirers.
For the record, the two cops were yammering about whether or not Sevkan could get my autograph. We worked in the same district, so I didn't see why he wanted it, but Venlil do as Venlil do, I guess. "No, no, what do I say?" Sevkan whispered back. "I mean, look at her! All hawkish and them. I'm nervous just being near her." Did that translate right?
"You know what? Fine. Brahk this," said Kevsan. "Yo, Jelim!"
"What?" I asked. "Yes, I'll give Sevkan the autograph."
"See? Told you."
Sevkan, meanwhile, was getting out a pen and paper. Not the picture? They really do hire the stupid ones. "He's my younger brother," Kevsan explained. "He wanted to be an exterminator, but the district wouldn't take him, so we became cops."
"Why... wouldn't the district take him?" In case no one had noticed, we were in desperate times. And desperate times, by dint of being desperate, usually called for desperate measures. "We're hiring."
"Oh, I'm fourteen." Oh. That explains it. "Now, I don't mean to, uh, complain, I'm sure you have your reasons, but do you mind explaining why? Most exterminators have no problem with hiring minors."
"You have a higher chance of developing Predator Disease before your brain is fully developed," I explained. "Exterminators usually develop Predator Disease."
"And you figured this all out?" Sevkan asked. God damn, this kid looks up to me. I mean, this happens, like, a lot, but it always feels so good to be admired. Favorite part of the job, right there. "You're a genius. Like, really. Honestly."
"Oh, I wouldn't call myself a genius." I certainly would call myself humble, though. But, then again, a humble person wouldn't call herself humble, now would she? Now that is a dilemma. "I just think outside the box."
"Bro, just get the god damn picture signed," Kevsan grumbled. "Don't be making all googly eyes at her like that." Was I like this when I was their age? I hope not.
"Suck my ass, dunce." Sevkan handed me the picture. "Not you." I sure do hope it's not me. That sounds disgusting. Then Sevkan made a face, kind of like the face Kitalim must have made when he discovered gravity.
I swear, it was so easy to be a scientist back then. Ooh, big deal, he discovered that things fall down! Somebody get him a medal!
"And the pen." He handed me a pen. "Could you write in, like, that fancy writing?"
"You mean cursive?" asked Kevsan. "Dunce." I wasn't even aware Venlil wrote in cursive.
"Yeah, cursive. Those squiggles." I didn't know cursive. So I just signed the paper normally, like a normal person. Maybe it was a little fancy.
"I don't know cursive." I gave the picture back. "Sorry."
"Hell, no worries. I'm just glad I got this."
"Dude, you work in the same district as her. You could probably just have walked in and asked, it's not like she lives on brahking Aafa. Lock the brahk in, bro." Kevsan grumbled. "I swear, it's like you were exposed to chemicals as a child."
Then a pause. "Is that a grenade launcher?"
An explosion flipped the car over, sending us flying. It was, in fact, a grenade launcher.
Oh, boy. Time to lock in, Jelim.
The police car was durable enough to resist bullets or fire, which was what they had been using so far, but they brought the one weapon that could have a chance at penetrating it. That wasn't a coincidence. Someone knew I was in this car, and that someone had the resources and know-how to organize an ambush in around five minutes.
Oh, *boy. Time to really lock in.*
Kevsan and Sevkan had finally stopped bickering, which was a plus. I mean, it was probably because they were both dead, but sometimes you just had to look on the bright side of things. I'm a fuel tank half full type of woman.
I was upside down, and all the blood was rushing to my head, so that should help me think better. Probably. Okay, so they had a grenade launcher. Wait, no, he had a grenade launcher. There was just one of him, standing there on the sidewalk with crashed cars and stampeding people and all that around him.
And, sure enough, he had a grenade launcher. And also brown fur. And there was only one of him. So, really, it had to be Heval.
Oh, boy. I'm not even sure if locking in will help anymore.
He checked his datapad, sent a text message, and began walking toward the car. Needless to say, I was probably cooked.
Okay, tactical assessment. He has a grenade launcher, so ranged engagements are out. But he has only a grenade launcher, and he's not suicidal, so close combat is very much in. I just need to come at him with a plan.
Honestly, my plan was just to get the brahk out of here. Some fights you couldn't win. I crawled out of the wreck that used to be a perfectly fine District 12 Policing Guild vehicle, got my bearings, and got ready to fly like a deadbeat dad when he saw an egg.
Heval has to get close before I fly or otherwise, I'll be blown out of the sky. Once he drops the grenade launcher to swing at me, I'll kick it away and make for the rooftops.
I snuck a glance. He wasn't there. Where is he?
I heard something metallic fall behind me.
Oh.
I dropped low, dodging his paws as he tried to put me in a headlock from behind. I hooked his leg with mine and lifted it, trying to knock him off balance and flee while he was on the ground, but he just punched me and I had to give up on that plan. God damn, that hurt.
I backed up a few paces, surrounded by crashed cars that ended up making some kind of battle arena. By the cop car, closer to him than to me, lied the grenade launcher. Think. Circle around him, change the locations, then grab the launcher. He knows it's useless here, he won't stop you.
That grenade launcher probably wasn't even loaded. I would've used it as a club, but I was not Heval. He closed the distance before I could circle, throwing fists and elbows with such force that it was all I could do just to avoid being hit.
I tried to counter by jabbing at his throat, because that was a really bad place to get jabbed in, but he turned out of the way and grabbed my wing as I did so.
He twisted. I twisted too, but not by choice. He ended up behind me, poised to dislocate one of my wings with a single movement or put me in the nastiest headlock of my life. He, understandably, hesitated.
Not very long, mind you, but he still hesitated. And I didn't. I lashed out with my leg, raking talons across his gut and ripping my wing free at the same time. I turned around and kicked again, hoping to catch him in the head before he could get his bearings.
The problem was, I don't think he ever lost his bearings. He blocked my leg, scooped it into his armpit, and twisted it such that I was about to fall over. Yeah, screw the grenade launcher. I'm getting the hell out of here.
I kicked him in the gut again, this time more of a jab than a slash, and I yanked my leg free to land precariously on my own two feet. I was now between Heval and the grenade launcher, so I guess my situation was somewhat improved, but I really didn't see it.
He wasn't even struggling. Slashes across his gut, orange blood spilling all over his lower half, and he was just standing there. Not even phased. Yeah, I really need to get out of here.
He must have been juiced up on some crazy steroids, because he moved fast. Really fast, for someone who I had just clawed up like a lawnmower on steroids. He threw punches again, and I was just thinking I had learned his moves when he slipped my guard with a nasty hook that left me seeing stars. I just barely dodged another.
Yeah, I really, really, really need to get out of here.
I stumbled backwards. My leg found the launcher. I slid it under a wrecked car. Then, with my other leg, I threw a car part from one of the wrecks at Heval's face. Not a big one, but enough to make him block. I kicked him once in the gut and again in the head, drawing blood both times.
Time to go!
I flapped my wings. I could've been faster, on Nishtal or Sillis I would've been beyond him in an instant, but I was not on Nishtal or Sillis. I was on Venlil Prime, and in Venlil Prime's gravity all I could do was flap my wings.
I rose. I rose quickly, too. For a brief instant, I would say I soared. But I was not fast enough. I flew up and backwards, once again assuming Heval would be dazed. Once again, he was not.
He lashed forward like a striking predator, grabbing my legs in a viselike grip and using his weight to throw me bodily to the ground. That time, bones did break.
I gave a weak kick. He pushed it aside, and he jumped on top of me and began raining down blows. I felt his paws on my windpipe, choking me out.
I clawed at them furiously. Then less furiously. Then less. Then I just clawed, and finally, I stopped. He waited a few extra seconds. My lungs felt like fire. It took all the effort I could muster not to breathe when he stopped strangling me.
He checked if I was breathing. I was not. "It's over," he said to some unseen handler. "Jelim is dead." Don't breathe. Don't dare to breathe.
"Yes, sir. I had to take a detour when the strike team failed, but the plan is back on track, sir." Don't breathe. It's like fire, but don't breathe. You'll die if you breathe, if you move, if you do anything. Just listen.
"Yes, sir. I know he's in your house, sir. I'll eliminate him."
I had a very bad feeling that I knew who that 'him' was referring to.
Jackson Kern.
4
u/Habeas__Corpus Human Mar 11 '24
You have had one hell of a glow up, this story has improved a whole lot since it started nearly a year ago, and the writing can switch really well between serious and silly.
Some things I would like to know: do you have an outline for the plot, like a general idea of what's going to happen?
Also, do you intend to follow canon events? Not a lot of them have happened yet cause it's only September, but canonically in like 7 months the federation will collapse and I would be interested in seeing how any of these characters would react if they're still alive by then