The Predators
Written by Brigitte and Dawn

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter and owned by the Fox Network and 1013 Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended.


Present Day, Harbor Health Spa, Baltimore, MD

As the proprietor of her own health club, she energetically jogs on her own treadmill, sweat glistening on her skin. Only it isn't sweat, it's slightly slimy to the touch. Almost a mucus, it oozes from her pores and becomes thick, cold and clammy on her shin.

The club is becoming crowded with ordinary people of every shape and size. Businessmen and professionals, housewives, and students from the nearby college. All exercising as part of their lunch break rituals. All, excluding newcomers, healthy and physically fit.

As she jogs, she surveys the club. She sees a large muscular man on the weight machine.

'He's certainly large enough' she thinks.

She eyes the lawyer on a stationary bike. 'I wonder if he took my suggestion about taking those vitamin supplements. He still looks a little puny.'

A very tall woman with red hair pulled into a pony tale enters the gym. 'Pretty.....big boned......excellent..... if only they were all that way. I know I've seen her before. Yes, at the health food store on Wolfe Street. 'Most of these people are possible candidates.'

She lingers on the thought of an accidental touch, a handshake as a way of introduction to the man on the weight machine. The man notices her stare and quickly gives her a wink and a broad smile. She in turn, smiles back.

'Well he certainly seems interested and he does have that winning smile.' She could take him right here in her own club in front of all these ordinary people. She could feed. He would die.

'....stupid....indiscreet....drawing to much attention to yourself and the club.' Her father's angry chastisement rings in her ears. Her father has taught her better then that; she would never disobey him. She loves him too much, to deeply. She and her father will dine tonight in private, secretly, alone.

As she continues her jog, she thinks of the festivities of the coming evening. Her father's birthday celebration. His five-hundredth;a milestone. They will dine tonight in private as they always do;tonight with two specially invited guest.

With her jogging finished, she steps off the treadmill and heads to the private shower in her office. She remembers the day, decades ago, when her father told her that her mother was one of the ordinary people, just like one of those that attend her club. Maybe like the tall women with the red hair. Her father actually loved this person all those centuries ago.

'Loved her!' She couldn't believe it then. She copes with it now.

She and her father do not always agree on everything. He has always stated that ordinary people are a necessary evil for them, a mean of survival, but more than that and not *So* different from themselves.

*Living, breathing, human beings just like ourselves that should be treated with kindness and respect and mercy. We do have to live among them.* She hears her father's voice in her mind again, as she has heard it continuously for over two centuries.

'Yes, Father, you are right, but we must also feed among them.' He just doesn't enjoy the hunt anymore. In fact, she doesn't know if he ever did. She, on the other hand, sees ordinary people as a necessity too, but a pleasurable one.

'True, they are just another link in the food chain, but a significant one.' She thinks to herself. 'And they are my longevity, vitality, my energy, more than a mean to survive. They should be enjoyed.'

Although she and her father may not agree on the ordinary people, there is one thing that she understands for certain in spite of her father's opinions. They are, after all

As she showers, the slime washed from her skin and hair congeals into small lumps on the shower floor. She directs them down the drain with her foot.

After tonight, she won't be hungry.


Friday, April 24th, 1984
Parking garage at Pimlico Race Track.

"What do we have?"

"A garage attendant reported this car left overnight. We observed a small blood stain on the seat and popped the trunk. From what we can make out, it's a man.....half a man. Just this one mark on what is left of him. Looks like a partial hand print burned into his skin. We are running down the plates know. The ME is on the way."

"Why do I get all the weird cases? Hmm. Can you tell me why I, John Munch, get all the weird, nobody else would want to touch with a ten foot pole cases?"