Like from Outer Space.
The Predator’s ship landed on the roof of the National Theater with a faint hiss that perfectly coincided with the climax of the play below—just as the actor playing the mountain troll let out an ear-piercing shriek. “Not bad camouflage,” the Predator thought, adjusting his cloaking device.
He was about to begin his hunt when the stolen iPhone in his armor pocket buzzed. The screen lit up with a notification:
Anthony Diamond liked your photo “New Trophies đź’€”
The Predator froze. His mandibles twitched involuntarily. In three hundred years of intergalactic hunting, no one—NO ONE—had ever appreciated his skull collection. At best, he’d gotten screams of terror or pleas for mercy. But a like? This was a first.
With trembling claws (the keyboard was clearly designed for creatures with less developed musculature), he typed a reply:
“Thank you, Anthony. You’re the first who didn’t call this photoshop.
The response came instantly:
“Dude, this is art! BTW, the second skull from the right has a crack—won’t last long. Nail polish works, trust me.”
Something strange tightened in the Predator’s chest. Maybe it was gratitude. Or maybe just heartburn from Norwegian air.
Deciding to repay humanity for producing such a perceptive specimen, the Predator embarked on a “goodwill tour” of Oslo.
By City Hall, he subtly adjusted a girl’s hand as she struggled to frame a selfie. “Oh my god, my phone moved by itself!” she shrieked. “It’s the new stabilization feature,” her boyfriend lied without blinking. The Predator clicked approvingly—a good lie deserved respect.
At CafĂ© Fuglen, he added three drops of his saliva (completely harmless, aside from a slight blue glow in the dark) to the coffee of a pretentious barista. Within an hour, the man was selling a “new signature drink with a secret ingredient” at double the price.
But the masterpiece happened at Jernbanetorget Square. A street violinist who had tortured passersby with off-key notes for years suddenly played like Paganini—the Predator had simply connected an audio corrector. “I’m a genius!” the musician screamed before sprinting off to audition for The Voice Norway.
That evening, another message arrived:
“Dude, you in Oslo? Let’s meet at Teddy’s Bar!”
For the first time in years, the Predator felt something akin to panic. His biomask displayed a profile:
*Anthony Diamond:
Age: 34
Interests: taxidermy, black metal
Threat level: 0*
“Well then,” the Predator thought, entering the nearest store in search of nail polish. “Friendship requires sacrifices.”
Somewhere in the distance, an ambulance siren wailed—apparently, the “secret ingredient’s” effects were kicking in. But the Predator paid no mind. Ahead lay the first interspecies friendship meetup in history.
And if that meant spending the evening cloaked, pretending to be just a very tall guy in a weird helmet—well, true friendship was worth it.
Oslo didn’t know it yet, but it had just gained its strangest, most dangerous guardian.
