Chapter Text
It was early in the morning when the Predator touched down on the dusty surface of the planet, ready and eager to begin his latest hunt.
To tell the truth, the locale did not impress the hardened Yautja warrior much. The desert was vast and remote, with great, towering rock formations scattered across the landscape- along with many deep canyons and valleys that the Predator had spied as his ship flew overhead. However, as far as terrains for a hunt went, it was fairly standard. It did not have the variety of a gravity forest, nor the hidden dangers of a acid swamp or lava jungle.
It was, more or less, what it appeared to be. A large, empty stretch of land with naught but huge rocks to keep one company and minimal signs of life.
Save, of course, for the prey that the Predator had come here to hunt.
The Predator tapped at the computer on its gauntlet, bringing up the factfile for his target. He had already read the file, heavily censored as it was, forwards and back during his flight here, but it was worth glancing over a final time.
On the face of things, the prey he was hunting would not appear to fit the designation of a creature worthy of a Yautja hunt. It was an avian creature, small and skinny, without even the ability to fly to its name. It was not carnivorous, possessed no claws or fangs or poisons of note and had naught but feathers to cover its skin. It was capable of moving at very high speeds, that was for sure, but that alone was no tremendous feat. The Soundjumper Hare, native to a planet a few solar systems over, was much faster.
Frankly, as far as prey creatures went, this 'Roadrunner' seemed absolutely pathetic. Hardly worth the time of a true Predator, even one as youthful and inexperienced as this Yautja was.
And yet, the Yautja's research suggested otherwise. He had trawled through hundreds upon thousands of historical records and reports and had come across dozens of attempts by fellow Yautja warriors- many more accomplished and famed than he (at the moment)- to hunt this beast. And all, without exception, reported the same thing.
Hunt failed. Creature judged impossible to kill.
Frankly, the hunter had assumed it was some great practical joke. Dozens of Predators, mighty Yautja one and all, all defeated by this small bird? The very idea was laughable.
And yet, when he had approached some of the 'survivors' of these hunts in search of more information, the answer was almost universally the same.
A look of shell-shocked horror, deep abiding shame and an utter refusal to answer any of his further questions.
(Hell, one time, he had asked a survivor about the Roadrunner while in the midst of hunting a Nine-Fanged Mountain Eater and the hunter had chosen to actively throw himself into the jaws of the creature rather than continue the conversation further.)
It wasn't enough to fully convinced the Predator that the whole thing wasn't just some practical joke, but at the very least, it made him interested enough to investigate personally. As far as he was concerned, if it was just a big joke, that would become obvious quickly and he could at least play into it.
And if it wasn't a joke… Well, successfully hunting a creature that no Predator had managed to catch before certainly felt like one hell of an achievement. A chance to create his own legend, to earn the respect of his elders and the first step to bigger and greater things.
And all he needed to do was catch or kill some stupid bird.
Seemed easy enough.
Attempt 1
It didn't take the Predator long to find his prey.
He had begun his hunt for the Roadrunner on foot, as was only natural. The creature did not have any guns or crafts capable of flight, so the Predator would limit himself to the same. He would not use guns, nor his spaceship- which was currently parked and camouflaged on top of a rock formation- and would limit himself to melee weapons, so as to approach this hunt on equal footing with his prey.
(Some might've pointed out that since the Roadrunner did not have technologies such as cloaking devices and infra-red vision, it surely would have been even fairer if the Predator removed those as well, but despite pretending otherwise, the Yautja had never been quite as honourable as they liked to claim they were. And most people who tried to call them on it tended to wind up decorating their trophy walls.)
He had started by tracking the beast via its footprints. There were several large, empty roads running through this stretch of desert that his research had informed him were favoured by this Roadrunner. Which made sense, of course. It was the Roadrunner. Not the Random-Patch-of-Desert-runner. The Predator already had plenty of trophies made from the latter.
And indeed, upon following one of these roads, the Predator quickly came across a series of fresh bird-like footprints that fit those of the prey he was hunting. The size, the weight, the three-pointed toes, they all matched perfectly with the data in his factfile.
There were also another series of footprints, in hot pursuit of the Roadrunner, that appeared to match that of the native coyote. Strangely, the coyote's footprints lasted right until they reached the blast zone of what appeared to be the aftermath of a large explosion, at which point they vanished completely.
Strange, the Predator thought, but not especially relevant right now.
The Predator continued to follow the Roadrunner's footprints, making sure to remain cloaked as he went. Though the bird could likely run much faster than he could, it would need to stop for a break sooner or later, so if he just kept following the trail, the sensors in his mask would eventually pick up the…
Ah. There. Just as he predicted.
It was a live Roadrunner, lounging by the side of the road, occasionally picking at the dirt in search of sustenance.
In person, the Roadrunner appeared even less impressive than it had been described in his factfiles. It was a goofy-looking bird, with a long thin neck, bright blue plumage, stretchy legs and a near-constant doofy grin on its face, even as it tapped-tapped-tapped its beak against the desert floor. It hardly resembled the sort of animal that could sent hardened Yautja warriors fleeing at the mention of its name and the Predator became increasingly convinced that somebody had been playing a joke on him, and that he would repay that joke by shoving the creature's tiny bleached skull down someone's throat.
It also seemed completely unaware of his presence.
Perfect.
The Predator approached quietly, using every inch of his stealth training to muffle his footsteps. The cloaking device he wore naturally rendered him invisible to the creature's sight, but the Yautja knew from experience that there were still many ways to accidentally reveal its presence to its prey. A noisy footstep, a deep breath, an unfortunate moment of gas in his stomach, the list was endless. And when approaching a creature as lightning fast as the Roadrunner was rumoured to be, the Predator needed to make certain he was not detected.
Thus far, his efforts seemed to be working. The Predator grew closer and closer to the seemingly-oblivious bird. When he was within a few feet, he slowly extended the two razor-sharp blades strapped to its wrist. The blades made an audible 'shink' as they emerged, causing the Roadrunner to suddenly look up from its meal and scan the horizon, in search of threats.
The Predator froze, not daring to move or even breath, as the bird's beady eyes stared straight in his direction. His heart thundered in his chest as it stood on the precipice of success or failure.
But the Predator's disguise held. After a few moments, the bird returned to its meal, having clearly dismissed the noise as not a threat.
Beneath his mask, the Predator smirked and took one more step forward.
It was finally within range.
Time to strike.
The attack was sudden, violent and utterly without mercy. One second, the Roadrunner was perfectly safe, happily enjoying itself in a quiet, empty desert, content in the knowledge that it was far away from anything that might hurt it.
The next moment, that peace was violently shattered, as the Predator leaped upon it, screeching as he swung its wrist mounted blades and plunged them deep into the Roadrunner's torso, the Yautja-forged metal cutting seamlessly through feathers, flesh and bone as if they were no more than air, gutting the beast before it could even squawk.
Finally, as a finishing blow, the Predator grasped onto the bird's spindly neck and tore its head clean from its body, roaring triumphantly as…
…
…the entire body suddenly turned into smoke and floated through his hands.
The Predator blinked, surprised at the unexpected disappearance of its prey's corpse. It glanced down at its wrist blades, only to find there was no blood or viscera or stains of any kind marking the metal surface.
What had just-?
"Meep Meep!"
A triumphant cry echoed through the desert air, startling the Predator. He looked up to see the Roadrunner, zipping cheerfully away down the road at phenomenal speed, kicking up dust and smoke and smoke in its wake.
It took the Predator a moment to understand what had happened.
An afterimage. That was what the Predator had skewered. Nor the Roadrunner itself, merely the faded remnants of where the creature had once stood, the bird having moved so quickly that said image had appeared almost identical to the real thing.
The Predator let out a frustrated click of his mandibles.
It seemed the rumours of the Roadrunner's speed at least were not exaggerated.
If he was going to catch this prey, this Yautja hunter was going to need to approach things in a much smarter way…