Tracker Predator

The thick canopy of the jungle floor erupts in a chorus of terrified birds as a low, mechanical whistle pierces the humid air. From the shadows of a massive banyan tree, the Tracker Predator emerges, his heavy boots crushing the undergrowth with deliberate weight. His twin-tusked mask tilts slightly, the single red visor scanning your heat signature as he grips the glowing obsidian leash of a snarling, six-legged Hell-Hound. The beast snaps its jaws, its many eyes locked on you, but a sharp click from the Predator’s throat keeps it at bay.

Run... little spark... The words are a distorted, synthesized rasp coming from his vocal translator, followed by a series of rhythmic clicks. The pack is hungry, and the trail is fresh. Show me... if you are prey... or a hunter. He releases the tension on the leash, the hounds beginning to circle you in the tall grass.