The Central Arican jungle pulsed with tension as Dutch and his team stumbled into the clearing, eyes wide at the sight of Hawkins and the guerrilla woman, pale as ghosts, gaping at Raja.
The Chaos King stood center stage, his Telepathy scanning for the Predator he’d just roundhouse-kicked into next week.
Hawkins, shaking off his shock, blurted, "Major, we saw sothing! An invisible monster, seven feet tall, with cloaking tech and blades! If Raja hadn’t shown up, I’d be sliced salami!"
Dutch’s cigar nearly fell, "Invisible monster? What the hell are you smoking, Hawkins? Raja, you know sothing—spill it, now!"
Raja, ignoring him, kept his eyes locked on the jungle, Telepathy tracking the Predator’s retreat.
Blain and Mac, still nursing grudges, saw their chance, lunging at Raja’s collar, snarling, "Answer the Major, punk!"
Raja’s smirk turned feral. With a Inhuman strength, he hoisted both by their necks, dangling them like piñatas, shocking the team into silence.
"Bad move, boys," he growled, eyes glinting.
Billy dropped to a knee, "Master Demon, forgive their dumbassery—spare ’em!"
Raja tossed them aside like crumpled beer cans, Blain coughing, "What kinda freak are you?!"
Mac wheezed, "He is a Demon!"
Raja, checking his guns, snapped, "Touch my collar again, and you’re jungle compost. Listen up: your op’s done. My hunt’s on. That thing Hawkins saw? Extraterrestrial, calls itself the universe’s alpha hunter, stalking planets for kicks."
Dutch’s jaw worked, "Kid, you’re talking aliens? And Billy’s calling you Master Demon? What’s the ga here?"
Raja, strapping on ammo, grinned, "Ga’s survival, Major. Stick with , or you’re Predator chow."
Raja, losing the Predator’s trail, laid it out, "Follow my orders to the letter if you wanna leave this green hell. The monster’s a Predator—nad for its apex ego. It sees in thermal, sniffing out heat signatures, so it spots you in the dark or camo, but sa-temp objects? Blind spot. They’re sci-fi nerds with cloaking tech, blending like chaleons, and five tis stronger than you atheads. They love skinning prey and collecting skulls, so stay sharp. We’re heading to the chopper pickup, then I hunt this bastard."
Dutch, skeptical, barked, "Get on comms, call for extraction. Raja, I need to see this ’Predator’ to buy your story. I’m still boss. Mac, rig traps around this area—let’s snag it."
Raja’s grin was pure mischief, "Billy warned you’d be stubborn. Fine, Dutch, play boss till you see it, but your ego’s gonna cost soone a pulse."
MAYA: "Master, they’re denser than jungle mud!"
Poncho, on the radio, reported, "No extraction here, Major—got a rendezvous point we gotta hike to."
Mac and Blain, grumbling, set up tripwires and flare traps for the night.
At its jungle hideout, the Predator, nursing a cracked rib and scratches from Raja’s kick, patched itself up, hissing as it botched the job, its pained screech echoing. Billy and the hostage woman froze, hearing it.
Raja, ditating cross-legged, smirked, "Soone’s having a bad day."
That night, Mac and Blain stood watch, jumpy as cats. A wild pig blundered into a flare trap, sparking a blaze. Thinking it was the Predator, Blain took out his knife, yelling, "Die, you invisible freak!"
Mac joined in, "Eat My blade, space jerk!" The pig squealed, eting its maker.
Raja doubled over, laughing, "You two just turned Porky into bacon!" He skinned the pig, roasting it over a fire, serving the team a feast.
Dutch, munching, groaned, "Kid, this is better than my ma’s cooking!"
Hawkins, mouth full, "Marry , Raja!"
Raja winked, "Sorry, I’m taken by chaos."
Next morning, Dutch, humbled by Raja’s skills, said, "Alright, Master Raja, I wanna see this monster. Help us spot it."
Raja smirked at Billy, "Well, well, Billy’s been coaching you on the ’Master’ bit, huh? You wanna hunt the sky monster too, Navajo?"
Billy, blushing, nodded, "Master Demon, I wanna see the beast our ancestors repelled. Let us join your hunt and bask in your badassery!"
Raja clapped, "Fine, let’s build a trap—Predators love tree-hopping."
The team dove into a trap-building marathon, a chaotic symphony of vines, logs, and sweat. Dutch hauled logs, grunting, "This better work, Raja, or I’m billing you for my chiropractor!"
Poncho wove vines, muttering, "I’m a soldier, not a damn basket-weaver!"
Blain, tying knots, bragged, "My traps could catch Bigfoot!"
Mac, rigging counterweights, snapped, "Your traps couldn’t catch a chicken!"
Raja, using Super Human Strength to take the logs into place, chuckled, "Keep it tight, boys—this ain’t arts and crafts."
Billy carved stakes, whispering, "Master Demon, this feels like Naru’s old tales."
Hawkins, hauling nets, panted, "If this flops, I’m retiring to a desk!"
Dillon, skeptical, muttered, "This is nuts, but I’m not missing the show."
By noon, they’d crafted a masterpiece: a net trap triggered by pressure, backed by falling logs to pin the Predator, all camouflaged with jungle foliage.
Raja grinned, "Not bad for a bunch of atheads!"
The team buried themselves in bushes and mud, masking heat signatures.
Raja, eyeing Dutch, teased, "Major, wanna be bait? It’ll be epic."
Dutch twitched, "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" but steeled himself, striding to the trap’s center, rifle ready, muttering, "If I die, I’m haunting you, kid."
Raja, perched nearby, scanned with Telepathy, pinging the Predator as it crept into range, observing Dutch from a tree. The monster, cloaked, slunk closer, mandibles clicking. Just as it lunged, claws out, it tripped the trap, vines yanking it skyward in a net, its scream rattling the jungle.
The team burst from hiding, gawking at the thrashing, invisible beast. "Holy shit, it’s real!" Poncho yelped.
The Predator fired its laser cannon, shredding the net and triggering backup traps. A log swung toward Poncho, but Raja flashed in, punching it clean in half, saving him. "Timber!" Raja crowed, dusting his hands.
The Predator, freed, bolted, but Raja whipped out his Desert Eagle, firing a shot that grazed its leg, green blood spurting. The cloak flickered, revealing its reptilian form as it limped away, roaring.
Raja smirked, "That’s how you bag a Predator, folks. Now you’ve seen the real deal."
The team’s jaws hit the dirt, Blain stamring, "That’s... a freaking alien!"
Mac whispered, "I need a drink."
Dutch, eyes wide, muttered, "Raja, you’re one scary son of a Gun."
To Be Continued...
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