Predator; Hunting Grounds

Illfonic trades Jason’s hockey mask for dreadlocks and thermal vision

The jungle is as silent as the grave. The question is, whose? Hunkered down behind a boulder, we risk a peek at the treeline across a narrow river. There’s nothing visible save an NPC soldier idly lolling. We peer around the other side of the boulder, and – yes, there it is, shifting undergrowth and the drum-roll of feet. Straightening, we set off at a cautious trot over the hillside. The interloper breaks cover in front of us, a torquing mass of light and colour. We take a breath, leap and plunge two enormous wristblades into the centre of the mass, ripping the bogey apart before it can turn. Alone again, we jam a massive hand into our victim’s muddy flesh and rip out their spinal column as though yanking a Christmas cracker. There’s no time to get festive, however, as a chorus of yells signals the arrival of the other three human players. We activate our camo cloak and slide up a tree with our prize while below, the human troops open fire in all directions.