A/N - Hi! After a loooong time I've decided to finish this fic. It's been bugging me to write it for years now. I know how it goes, I know how it ends, and I have the bones of two sequels too (I didn't originally intend for there to be sequels - the characters just showed up in my head and told me they were happening. They were a pretty intimidating bunch so I uh... didn't really argue. I value my miserable life). Long story short, I need to exorcise this fic before it drives me mad or the characters get fed up and just kill me. I've rewritten the first three chapters I'd already uploaded, and I'll be uploading new chapters as I write them. I'm not an amazing writer - I have no illusions there - but I can only get better. And to get better I need to write! I just hope I can entertain people on my journey to writery world domination.

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It was nighttime in the rainforest, but the noisiness of the day had only subsided a little. Water drops from the recent storm still clung to the lush vegetation and the forest smelt damp and earthy. A lone Yautja was out, returning to his ship after a successful day hunting. He jogged along confidently, uncloaked. His natural pitch-black colouring and black armour making him seem a part of the night himself. There was interesting hunting here...

Mor'che pounded through the damp, humid jungle that was so similar to the ones back on his beloved Homeworld. Several assorted skulls and other random body parts collected throughout the day swung freely from the belt around his toned waist. As he ran, the glaive slung over his left shoulder caught a low hanging vine tendril, sending showers of tiny water droplets everywhere. Some landed on his exposed upper arms, giving them a glossy sheen.

He paused for a moment, his large feet sinking slightly in the spongy detritus on the forest floor. Grinning to himself behind his intricate mask, he took several deep lungfulls of the night air. Now this was what he lived for - the solo hunting of the blooded warrior. Being able to go where he liked to find worthy prey, being able to come and go from his Homeworld as he pleased, and having his own ship to allow him to do these things.

His ship was where he was headed back to now, and he began to jog again, his black armour flexing with every move like a second skin. He entertained himself briefly with the thought of getting out of it and into a hot bath. Cleaning up the day's trophies could wait until after he'd had his soak. Putting on a burst of speed, Mor'che prepared to run the remaining distance to where he had hidden his ship.

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Dantia had decided that she didn't like driving in the dark. The giant jungle trees that lined the sides of the rustic road always looked so creepy at night; their huge silhouettes could be hiding anything. She'd finished late today and had had several things she needed to do before she could leave the village. She sighed and pushed back a strand of dark, chocolate coloured hair from her face. She'd put it up in an effort to control it, but every now and then a piece would still come pinging out of the band and wave mockingly in front of her eyes. Humid jungle weather wasn't good to her hair, that's for sure. She shifted slightly forward in the driver's seat, unsticking her back from the worn leather. It had been a long day, and she just wanted to wash the dust and sweat off and crawl into bed.

The huge trees blurred past on either side as her Jeep sped along the dirt road. Suddenly conscious of the speed she was doing, Dantia eased her foot off the accelerator a bit. The roads were notoriously bad, and it wouldn't do to go hitting a pothole in the dark. She flexed her fingers on the wheel and flicked a glance at her watch. The delicate hands indicated it was just gone 10pm, and there was still a lot of road to cover before she was home.

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Mor'che was halfway back to his ship when he skidded to a halt. Something wasn't right…

Concentrating with his senses as well as his mask tech, he activated his cloak automatically as a precaution and dropped to a crouch, his clawed fingertips splayed on the forest floor. No sooner had he done so than a shot from an energy weapon flew through the space where his head had been and exploded on a tree behind him, a cascade of smoking wood splinters showering down.

Mor'Che rose from his crouch and sprinted for cover in one smooth movement, cursing silently. He flattened himself against one of the giant tree trunks, using the buttress-like roots to cover his vulnerable sides. That had been a plasma caster shot, which meant either oomans had acquired Yaut'ja technology, or it was badbloods. He seriously doubted the former, which left him with the fact that he was probably facing his own kind gone rogue. If that were so then his cloak was useless.

He dropped the redundant cloak and snarled, rolling out from behind the tree into a crouch further down the root. His mask immediately detected three bipedal heat signatures and he fired his plasma caster at the nearest. Without waiting to see if it had hit its mark, Mor'Che was on his feet and running. He'd have better odds if he could string them out in a chase.

His mind raced as he ran. What were badbloods doing here? His clan currently had the hunting rights to this planet, and any others who set foot on it would be considered trespassing at best, and poaching at worst; both of which carried weighty punishments. Not only that, but rogues usually operated alone, going out of their way to keep their activities under the radar and not be seen by a clan Yaut'ja.

Mor'che zigzagged through the trees for a few hundred metres using their giant forms as cover before swiftly ascending one of them and continuing through the canopy. His mask tech now confirmed that his first shot had indeed been a kill, and it automatically logged the coordinates for corpse retrieval - assuming he wasn't killed first. A plan began to form in his mind involving his ship, and he led them on towards it, occasionally pausing to fire off plasma shots at his pursuers.

After a few minutes of playing cat and mouse he was halfway back to his ship, on the edge of a large, crude road the oomans had cleared through the jungle. He could hear the engine-noise of an approaching vehicle, and he was sure the others would have heard it too. He grimaced behind his mask - getting an ooman involved would be something his kind would usually avoid, but as these were renegades he had no doubt that they'd use anything to their advantage. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about the whole situation. The one he had killed needed to have his corpse disposed of before it was discovered.

His two remaining pursuers had dropped back and were probably following at a distance for now. Mor'che decided to try and avoid ooman contact as best as he could and lead the badbloods away. He'd have to change his plan. The branch on which he was currently crouched was on a tree at the edge of the road, and he rose to leave for better cover. He paused suddenly, for just as the ooman vehicle was coming into view, his mask picked up the signatures it had stored earlier. The two renegades had rallied and were now converging on him at full speed.

Mor'che cursed and turned to face them, priming his plasma cannon. It was regrettable, but the ooman would have to be blind and deaf to not notice what was about to happen. He fired shots at the approaching duo, and was pleased to see them slow momentarily. A discharge of superheated energy missed him by an arm's length as they fired back at him, and with a flicker of dismay he saw it had blasted a hole in the road. The oncoming ooman vehicle screeched and swerved off into the trees the other side of the road.

Mor'che's next plasma blast caught the first renegade full in the mask and he spun away, dropping 100-foot to lie unmoving on the ground. The remaining yaut'ja was on Mor'che now and tackled him off the branch, seemingly intending to kill him with the fall. Mor'che grabbed his glaive from the sheath on his back, thrusting the blade swiftly into the tree trunk. With an arm-wrenching jolt his descent was halted, dislodging the rogue's grip from around his torso. Mor'che released his hold on the glaive to drop onto the falling renegade, his wrist blades out and at the ready. The renegade roared, trying to turn so Mor'che was once again underneath, but failed. In a split second the two yaut'ja had landed, Mor'che bracing his feet on the abdomen of the other, who folded up on the impact then lay helplessly, green blood leaking out from underneath his mask.

Mor'che planted his feet either side of the stricken yaut'ja and observed him coldly, retracting his wrist blades. He had felt bones snap under his feet, and was pretty sure that several organs had ruptured - all as intended. The renegade was fading fast. Curling taloned fingers along the edge of the other's undecorated mask, Mor'che ripped it off, tossing it carelessly to the dirt as he looked for the tell tale clan mark. He found none. Where it would have been was a ragged, lumpy scar where the bad blood had erased all ties to his previous clan life. Mor'che hissed in disgust. That one of his own kind could sink so low shamed the whole species.

His mask auto-logged the coordinates while he stared down impassively at the dying rogue. Behind his mask his thoughts were a whirl. Had these badbloods been working together for something specific? It seemed too coincidental that they would be here at the same time he was. And to attack him first… It was unprecedented. The yaut'ja in front of him let out a last long, gurgling rattle and ceased breathing, his body finally succumbing to its wounds. Mor'che turned away in distaste and went to retrieve his glaive, deeply disturbed by the day's events.

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As Dantia looked out ahead at the trees, she caught a small movement in one of them off to the left hand side. A monkey maybe? No. Even at this distance it was obviously too big to be a monkey.

It actually looked almost human, just... bigger. A pang of fear clutched at her stomach and she found herself suddenly reluctant to get any closer.

She told herself to quit being stupid - it was probably just a funny shaped branch or something, and her tired brain was seeing it as something else. Those damn jungle trees were bad for her sanity.

Quelling her irrational fear, she put her foot firmly down on the pedal, intending to get as far away as possible from the strange looking blob of a silhouette and home to her comfy bed.

Just as she thought that, a globe of fizzling light flew out of the trees near where she had been looking and exploded in the road about 20 metres dead ahead of her, the searing brightness temporarily blinding.

Dantia gave a startled half-scream and instinctively slammed on the breaks, yanking on the steering wheel to try to avoid driving straight into the explosion.

She didn't have time to think as the Jeep swerved off road to bounce through the undergrowth - getting out of this situation as intact as possible became the main priority. Cursing, Dantia threw her arms up over her head, protecting her face. Her world became just a series of jolting movements. All she could do was hope it didn't roll... If it did then she was seriously screwed. The bouncing seemed to go on forever, and she was roughly tossed to one side as the Jeep clipped something. Then there was a crunch, and her consciousness deserted her.

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Mor'che quickly followed the trail left by the rampant vehicle on the forest floor and found it up against a tree, most of its front buckled in. One flickering headlight clung to life, sending sputters of weak light across the ground. Glass scattered all around glinted occasionally with a captured sliver of light. A few stray leaves floated down from the high canopy above, having been violently dislodged by the impact.

Sensing no movement and hearing nothing but the surrounding forest, he concluded that the vehicle's occupant must either be unconscious or dead.

Mor'che cocked his head and sighed to himself as he considered the possibilities. He could leave the ooman to fend for itself if it was still alive, but it had been quite a bad crash and it was a long way to the nearest ooman settlement on foot. If there were any more badbloods around, he was pretty sure they'd have no qualms about 'playing' with this one if they found it. He focused his mask tech on the vehicle and after a second it picked up the heat signature of the occupant through the fading heat of the engine. Then the ooman's life sign flashed up on the internal display. It seemed it had survived.

"C'jit!" He spat the expletive. Now what was he supposed to do? He sighed as he realised the only honourable thing he could really do was make sure it was safe from any rogues. Leaving it to its own devices would more than likely end up killing it - one way or another - and since he knew that, turning his back on the situation would offend his sense of honour.

Mor'che padded carefully over to the vehicle, glass crunching softly underfoot, and peered in, stooping so that his silver-beaded dreadlocks swung round his face.

"Pauk!" He swore again. The ooman was female. That made it all even worse.

Fine. He'd just take her back to his ship, check her over to make sure she was stable and drop her off at the nearest settlement; then his honour would be satisfied and he could forget this ever happened. He exhaled slowly and stopped kidding himself. It wouldn't be that simple. She'd seen an energy weapon discharge at least and leaving witnesses around was frowned upon. He should snap her neck now and be done with it really, but he had never been one of those that could deliberately kill civilians just because they happened to catch a glimpse of something or be in the way. There was always more than one option.

He had just curled his large taloned fingers around the handle of the driver door when the first projectile struck him square in the back.