The old wound keeps me from sleeping. It brings back bad memories. Memories of when the aliens came. Where they came from no one knew. Attempts to reason with them were fruitless, as they preferred to attack without provocation. They were so vicious and irrational and soon there were but few of us left alive. Only those that chose to hide survived.
I swallowed my pride and hid like the rest. I said back then I did it for my family, my children. Our leaders said, “There is room for all of us to live on this world, even the aliens. Let us live together in peace.”
But they were wrong. I remember returning from the hunt. It had been a good one even though the aliens had killed most of the animals that we lived on. I remember returning to my home and seeing it destroyed. My children slaughtered and none about except Death. I wailed my grief for what felt like forever, wondering why fate had kept me alive while taking the others.
Then I realized it. I was to be the vengeance of my people. So I hunt the aliens in memory of my children, in memory of my people. I am the last of my kind. I come in the night bringing death. The aliens know me as…