Dead Zone Valen-4. One billion unconscious beings. Predator age: nine million years. Youngest remaining predator. Smallest remaining dead zone. Easiest remaining target.
Should have been simple kill. Should have been quick. Should have been routine.
Wasn't.
Weapon-Kaine approached with pure weapon-self active. Eighty-five percent weapon. Fifteen percent dormant person. Eleven scars carried. Lonely. Isolated. Disconnected. Functional but barely relational.
Ready as possible for twelfth kill.
The predator felt different immediately. Not aggressive. Not resigned. Not analytical. Something else entirely.
Afraid.
Please don't kill me, the predator said. Not with hunger or rage or clinical assessment. With terror. With desperation. With plea that was genuine and unmanipulated. Please. I'm youngest. I'm smallest. I've only existed nine million years. I've barely begun. Please. I don't want to die. I'm afraid. I'm terrified. Please don't kill me. Please.
