Try to make friends

Slowly, you move towards them, holding your hands out with you palms up. That is how one indicates no harm, part of your brain tells you. More things are coming back to you now. Yes, this is an indication of peaceful intent.

The people seem to see you; the first letting out a shriek and raising a metal tube. There's a cracking sound, then there is a slight discomfort in your chest, but the projectile doesn't pierce you hide. You start towards the aggressive biped, intent on explaining violently how mistaken his decision was. Another biped is standing on a flat tray at the back of the metal box. You notice other bipeds are inside, and understand it is a transport. The man on the tray raises a much larger metal tube with a glass eye on top, and you feel the searing pain in your leg at the same time your hear the booming crack.

Pain is new, and you bolt for the treeline with incredible speed. You hear raised voices and more cracks as the bipeds all raise different sized tubes. You count six heartbeats as you sprint between the trees, taking cover on a small down slope. It's not ideal, as the hillside is covered in the loud crunchy leaves that have begun to fall from the surrounding trees, but the bipeds are so noisy you hope it won't matter as you edge around the slope.

"You saw it, right? Holy shit! Billy, flank that fucking thing, we're gonna be millionaires! Move!"

Your eyes narrow as you focus on the scent and heartbeat of their self proclaimed leader. It's odd you understand and speak the same language as these... men. Definitely men. You smell it.

Two of the men head further out than the others, the remaining four spread out as they approach the place you were a few moments earlier. Some nearby bushes and a large tree are enough cover for you to move swiftly on all fours without being seen. You start to formulate a plan of attack, then you grin a nasty grin as you realize all of their tubes are smaller than the one that hurt you. No need to be quiet, just fast. The dangerous man is one of the two who are penetrating deeper into the woods. His tube even smells different.

You break cover and hurl yourself at the closest man, burying all ten of your fingers into his chest cavity. He doesn't have time to cry out, though his friends do plenty of that for him as your tear his torso apart. You brace your legs and push, leaping over the next closest man, burying your knuckle spikes with a savage punch as you pass over him. You are on the third man before his caved in head hits the ground.

As you pull off the third man's arms, you take a moment to marvel at how much fun you're having. This just feels right somehow. Your reverie is broken by another crack and a dull pain in your arm, the fourth man has finally decided to defend himself. You respect that, but you don't respect his tube. It's as weak as his flesh is, so you take it from him and shove it through him like a spear.

Guns. They're called guns. The blood on your knuckles tells you so, and other things. More than you can even start to digest right now.

The other two are nearly back, returning at a run. You only have a few moments. You return to the large tree and keep it between you and the approaching men.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Shhh..."

You hear the men's arms moving around. You think they must be communicating silently. You're glad the other humans weren't this smart, though part of you welcomes more challenging opponents. Their efforts are meaningless though. You know to the inch where all four of their feet are. You know their names. You know that the caved in head man (Robert. His name was Robert Paulson) had a thing for George's wife. You even recognise the smells of what they had for breakfast, now that the blood on your knuckles has taught you what breakfast is.

These guys are fucked. You muscle down your flowering knowledge of humanity and concentrate on the hunt.

Wary of the high powered rifle George is carrying, you wait until the men aren't facing you and approach silently. Mike, the one with a shotgun, is closer. You remember your very first enemy, that smug tree, and decide to blind George with acid when you're close enough to grab Mike. You don't want to give him time to shoot, and who knows what a shotgun at point blank range might do to you if you try to move quickly past Mike.

You raise your arm to swipe Mike's head clean off, then aim your open jaws at George. You make an odd gagging sound that draws the attention of both men. You're so startled when no venom comes out, that you don't even take the swipe at Mike as both men raise their guns and fire.

As you lay dying, you have enough time to feel humiliation. Maybe you needed to rest a while before you could go again with the whole acid spit thing. You drift into darkness feeling emasculated.