Deep in the jungle, a small team of trackers rest uneasily.
It has been 6 days since they first lost contact with their home base. 4 since they returned to find the charnel house that had become their friends final resting place.
Since then they have moved steadily north, trying to outrun... something. They don't know what it is. They don't know when it will strike. But it is there. They can feel it. Watching them. Judging them. Laughing at them.
They started as a group of 7. There are 4 left. They don't even know when the first one went missing. He just disappeared one night. The second was out of their sight for a second, gone to relieve himself. Now gone forever.
The third... Well at least they know where he is. Not that it's any real comfort. How comforting can it be to see your friend hanging upside down from a tree with his head missing?
Now they stick close together, never letting each other out of their sight. To lose sight of the others means to be alone. And no one wants to be alone here.
There is a short, sharp crack, and one of their number slumps over, a 2 metre spear sticking out of his abdomen. The others panic and flee, all in different directions.
High above, someone watches. It will be no trouble for this one to find them. After all, He is a hunter. A Predator. He is S.R.S. And they are his prey.