Hello faithful readers~ Ha ha, another story to behold. I know, I know. Ok, let's get this out of the way, eh? I own nothing of the predator concept, just the ideas my creative imagination spit out. I do hope this is a good read and yes, I know there are errors. No matter how many times I read, re-read and triple-read, I never get them all. For now Read and enjoy!

Also, please beware...there is some major cursing in this story!

Blowing Rock, North Carolina- December 12th

I fucking hate people, of all races. I don't care! It is amazing how annoyance is frigging universal. I'm not a bad person, really I ain't. I pay my taxes, giving money to causes, help in the homeless kitchens. All that jazz but for the life of me, I can't understand why this is happening…to me of all people! ...maybe I did something bad in a past life?

"56 bottles of beer on the wall! 56 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around and now there's 55 bottles of beer on the wall!" I groaned, grabbing a handful of my hair and rolled side to side, crying. Make it stop, the torture, it's just to much! "55 bottles of beer on the wall! 55 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around and now there's 54 bottles of beer on the wall!"

…where's my hunting knife when I need it? "Please, please, please…shut up!" I begged, wrapping the pillow around my head. However, my torture didn't stop, if anything, grew louder. It's outlandish to think how deep in sleep I had been before…this. Must have a set of lungs to wake me from a dead sleep.

"54 bottles of beer on the wall! 54 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around and now there's 53 bottles of beer on the wall!"-Gah!-Thirty minutes of this shit! Shoot me now, please, god, shoot me now. Right this mother fucking insistent. "53 bottles of beer on the wall! 53 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around and now there's 52 bottles of beer on the wall!"

"Dude, so not cool!" just cause, I hurtled a pillow in the corner where the horrid singing was coming and hoped he would stop. He didn't. Letting out a scream of aggravation, my arms flailed, legs kicking the bed and silk red sheets. Old fashion tantrum. So what if I'm twenty-two!

"52 bottles of beer on the wall! 52 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around and now there's 51 bottles of beer on the wall!"

"This isn't far." I cried and moaned at the same time.

"Then just do as I ask and I'll leave you be, Bol'sur'da." chuckled a voice and sprang up in bed, brownish-red hair all messy. I glared at the shadows and the figure stepped forward to expose a beast of a man…well, he says an alien. Yautja to be precise.

I wouldn't argue.

All I do know, for sure-sure, is he's fricking massive. My ceiling is at least nine feet high and he could stand on his tipy-toes and touch it. I, on the other hand, only come up to his chest…how messed up is that? Ridges sat on either side of his sloped, extended 'forehead', salt and pepper dreadlocks falling to his hips with beads and metal clasp here and there. He was a light dust color all over, darker brown spots along the ridges, coming from under his chest plate, arms and thighs.

A set of razor sharp teeth were protected by four even sharper mandibles. His eyes were deep-set, very, very…very deep-set and bright greenish-yellow eyes. Silver/metallic armor covered his shoulders, thighs, chest, forearms and legs. Attached to the shoulder was a cape, off white and tanish-brown designs.

First time I seen him…you could say I freaked and I'd say that was a BIG understatement. There was a lot of screaming involved, as well as running, smacking into inanimate objects and tripping over my own feet. I get clumsy when spooked, so sue me. Not sure what he expected, roaring in my face and all.

Now you have to understand, it is very rare to actually see one of the warriors, he told me so. They hunt my kind…great, eh? But my problem was this, he…is dead. Sigh…let me repeat that. The Yautja warrior alien dude is dead! DEAD!

It's one thing to see the deceased of friends, family or even complete strangers but when you start seeing total different species, it's time to check yourself into the damn loony bin. Great, Velma Macky, gone fucking crazy.

Sorry, gone off track. The meeting happened a week ago, just strolled right into his 'life'. Damn me, damn my nature walks and damn my nani for instilling them in me. Why must I like outdoories stuff? Every since that 'fateful' day, he's been trying to talk me into doing a favor for him and I have adamantly refused.

Thus the singing torture.

"51 bottles of beer on the wall! 51 bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around and now there's 50 bottles of beer on the wall!"

How the flying monkey balls, does a Yautja even know the 'bottles of beer' song? "Bee! Please stop!" I pleaded again with his nickname this time. I tried saying his real name a couple times, he even spelled it for me. B-A-K-O-L-I-R. Yea, did no good, what-so-ever.

"Come now little one." he purred softly, waking toward me. I glared, something fierce and growled lowly. Maybe, had he been alive still, he might be intimidated. The little Ooman that I was, I was rather good at the gesture. "I don't think I'm asking for to much. Just relay a message."

I don't know how he did it, but he pulled the puppy eyes on him. That with the added effort of a tilted head, it did me in. That is so not fair. Big scary aliens aren't suppose to be able to pull off the 'help won't you' look! I scowled, arms crossing. "Fine, but they come'ere and kill me, imma kick ya ass."

"Very well." he agreed, grinning to himself. I just know it.

"You are insufferable!" I shrieked in annoyance and he trilled in laughter. So glad I can be your entertainment! "But I'll do it tomorrow..." I pointed at him, then plopped back on the bed, burying my head under a pillow. In no time, my body was pulled into the realm of darkness and sleep overtook me once again.