Similar harassing attacks occurred several more times.
Although the Na'vi sustained a few casualties, they successfully repelled these sporadic, probing incursions by leveraging their familiarity with the terrain, rapid peer-to-peer communication, and robust sanctuary defenses. The Predators failed to easily secure Na'vi heads as trophies like Celtic had done previously. The resilience and solidarity of this indigenous species completely exceeded the young bloods' projections.
"Target One: Heavily defended, high alertness profile, presence of a collective consciousness early-warning mechanism. Acquisition of high-value trophies carries a high difficulty rating," a preliminary evaluation circulated across the Predators' internal data network.
Consequently, more gazes shifted toward the alternative target—the RDA base, an outpost built upon sheer industrial might, radiating signatures of energy and metal.
The RDA's Hell's Gate facility resembled a massive metallic scar branded across Pandora's emerald flesh. High-perimeter walls, a forest of automated turrets, rotating radar dishes, and the incessant roar of engines all broadcasted the power and intrusiveness of human industrial civilization.
Inside the central command tower of the base, Colonel Quaritch looked at the main monitors displaying telemetry from orbital satellites and drones. The reports detailed sporadic, anomalous energy activity in the perimeter sectors and ambushes on patrol detachments by unidentified cloaked units. No surprise registered on his features—only a cold, martial resolve.
"They're here," Quaritch told the security department's technical chief standing beside him. "Just like Dr. Chen predicted. These alien bastards think we're soft targets."
"Our defensive grid has been fully upgraded, Colonel," the technical chief replied, pulling up a schematic of the base defense network. It was populated by green nodes representing properly functioning sensors and weapon platforms. "Using select energy signature parameters provided by the Seekers, we've recalibrated the sensitivity of our motion sensors and thermal imaging arrays. While we can't fully crack their cloaking tech, we can log their presence at a much longer range. The perimeter seismic sensors and acoustic capture arrays are also on maximum alert."
Quaritch gave a sharp nod, his gaze piercing: "Tell all patrol detachments to maintain double-strength complements and pack heavy ordnance. Upon encountering any unidentifiable target, skip the warning and fire at will. We're going to let these cowards hiding in the dark know that this place isn't a hunting ground where they can stroll in and do whatever they please."
The directive was rapidly pushed down the chain of command.
The atmosphere within the facility grew increasingly tense; the footfalls of patrolling AMP suits felt significantly heavier, and the soldiers' fingers never drifted far from their triggers.
The Predator young bloods quickly felt the stark difference between the RDA and the Na'vi.
When they attempted to approach the facility's outer rim, the optical camouflage that was usually highly effective began to destabilize within a certain range of the perimeter walls. The warning alerts on their displays indicated that an active scanning beam had swept over them. They were forced to chart their paths with heightened calculation, utilizing the terrain and canopy for concealment to advance slowly.
A textbook engagement unfolded one evening.
Two Predator young bloods attempted to exploit the cover of darkness to infiltrate a sensor array node on the facility's outer rim, aiming to harvest technical intelligence or sow chaos. Moving like phantoms through the outer minefield, they silently neutralized two RDA soldiers stationed at a concealed outpost with clean, clinical execution, claiming their skulls.
However, just as they prepared to interface with the node equipment, piercing alarms shattered the night sky. The facility's searchlights snapped online instantly, sweeping across their sector like lances of light. Simultaneously, two automated turrets deployed nearby violently tracked to their position, spitting out blinding tongues of flame to weave a dense kinetic curtain.
"Compromised! Break contact!" one young blood growled, his shoulder cannon cycling instantly to accurately pulverize one of the turrets.
But the fire from the remaining turret had already locked down their egress vector. Rounds slammed into their armor plating, throwing off showers of sparks. While the kinetic impacts failed to penetrate the plating immediately, the staggering energy caused their strides to falter.
To make matters worse, an AMP suit assigned to patrol that specific sector was rapidly closing in with heavy footfalls upon hearing the alarm, its hand-held 30mm autocannon already spinning up to temperature.
The two young bloods attempted to use their cloaking fields and speed to scatter and break contact.
One of them was a fraction too slow; a burst from the autocannon caught him across the leg, shattering his armor and spraying dark green blood, instantly arresting his momentum. Right then, a heavier, far more oppressive engine roar surged from the distance.
An AMP variant noticeably taller, more heavily armored, and boasting superior firepower than a standard unit—Colonel Quaritch's personal command suit—came barreling down from the direction of the main facility gates.
"Think you're running?" Quaritch's icy voice boomed through the suit's external PA system.
He executed a violent powerslide with the chassis, cutting off the primary retreat vector of the wounded young blood, the multi-tube rocket pod on his right arm locking onto the target in an instant.
Sensing the mortal peril, the wounded young blood roared and spun around, aiming his shoulder cannon square at the cockpit in a final, desperate gambit. A superheated plasma bolt discharged.
Yet Quaritch seemed to anticipate the maneuver, shifting the chassis by an almost impossibly narrow margin. The plasma bolt scraped past the armor plating, carving a scorched trench across it. Simultaneously, the rocket pod erupted in flame, sending several high-explosive rockets screaming downrange.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The rockets accurately saturated the young blood's position, engulfing him in a massive detonation.
As the smoke and dust cleared, nothing remained but a scorched crater interspersed with mangled armor fragments and shredded biological tissue.
The other young blood witnessed his companion's demise. Refraining from lingering, he utilized the window provided by the engagement to push his cloaking field to maximum output, vanishing into the blackness of the jungle.
Quaritch did not pursue. He maneuvered his Ares suit over to the blast site, extending a mechanical manipulator to retrieve a half-warped piece of shoulder armor from the debris, which bore the crest of the Predator clan.
"That's one," he said into the comms channel, a trace of satisfying cruelty gracing his tone. "Clean this sector up. Analyze the wreckage; I want to know more about what makes these bastards tick."
This successful defensive action and counter-strike provided an immense boost to the morale of the RDA rank-and-file. They had proven that when faced with a tight defensive matrix and overwhelming firepower, these cloaked hunters were by no means invincible.
However, the upper echelons within the base, including Quaritch himself, knew all too well that this was merely the opening act. The death of a single brother would only serve to infuriate the remaining hunters—and the capital ship anchoring them from orbit.
The intelligence was swiftly routed to the Pioneer via encrypted channels.
Osiris looked at the brief after-action report of Quaritch's kill and the structural analysis of the wreckage on his monitors, his expression remaining placid.
"The RDA has bared its fangs—excellent," he murmured softly to himself. "Now, the pressure shifts back to the hunters. They will be more calculated, and far more... furious."