PREDATOR: BADLANDS: THE FATHER’S DARK COMMAND
Chapter 1: The Rust and the Red
The Badlands did not earn their name through legend; they earned it through attrition.
On the colony world of Acheron-IV, the sky was a bruised purple, choked by the dust of thousand-year-old salt flats and the rusted remains of terraforming engines that had failed long ago. This was a world of scavengers, where the most valuable currency was not gold, but functional circuitry and pressurized oxygen.
Thistle (played by Elle Fanning) wiped a layer of orange grime from her visor. Beside her, the wind howled through the ribs of a fallen freighter, sounding like the scream of a dying god.
“Check the perimeter,” a voice crackled in her ear. It was cold, mechanical, and devoid of fatherly warmth.
Silas, her father, stood atop a ridge of obsidian glass. He was more machine than man now—his left arm a hydraulic piston, his lungs wheezing through a filtered respirator. He was the leader of the Badlands’ most feared extraction crew, but to Thistle, he was simply the architect of her misery.
“Nothing on the thermal, Father,” Thistle replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
“Then you aren’t looking hard enough,” Silas snapped. “The static in the atmosphere is thickening. That means something is displacing the air. Something heavy.”
Chapter 2: The Dark Command
They retreated to the “Casket,” a fortified bunker carved into the base of a canyon. The air inside smelled of ozone and recycled sweat.
Silas turned to Thistle and her twin sister, Payer. He laid a heavy, metallic hand on the table, where a holographic map of the Badlands shimmered.
“The Syndicate wants the core from the crash site at Sector 7,” Silas began, his eyes glowing with an artificial red light. “But there’s a shadow in the sector. My sensors picked up a signature three days ago. It’s not human. It’s not a malfunction.”
He looked directly at Thistle.
“This is the Dark Command, Thistle. You go into the Sector. You retrieve the core. And if you encounter the Shadow… you do not run. You bait it. You bring it to the kill zone.”
Thistle felt a chill that had nothing to do with the planet’s dropping temperature. “Bait it? Father, if it’s what the legends say—the invisible hunters—we won’t survive a direct engagement.”
Silas leaned in, his respirator hissing. “I didn’t raise you to survive, girl. I raised you to be a weapon. That is my command. Do not return without the core, or the trophy of the beast.”
It was a suicide mission. A father’s dark command to his own blood, sacrificing his children for a corporate payday and a seat at the high table of the Syndicate.
Chapter 3: The Invisible Tide
The trek to Sector 7 took eighteen hours. Thistle and Payer moved like ghosts through the canyons, their high-tech stealth suits shimmering to match the jagged rock.
“He’s going to let us die,” Payer whispered, her rifle held tight.
“He thinks we’re already dead,” Thistle replied. “To Silas, we’re just gear that hasn’t broken yet.”
Suddenly, the world went silent.
The wind didn’t stop, but the sound of it did. It was as if a vacuum had been placed over the canyon. Thistle looked at her wrist-mounted sensor. The needle was spinning wildly.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound didn’t come from the radio. It came from the rocks above. A rhythmic, guttural chirping that vibrated in Thistle’s marrow.
“Payer, move!” Thistle screamed.
A bolt of blue plasma tore through the air, turning the rock where Payer had been standing into molten glass. From the shimmering heat haze, a shape began to form. It was tall—over seven feet—and covered in matte-black armor that seemed to swallow the dim light of the purple sun.
This wasn’t the primitive hunter of Earth’s past. This was the Predator of the Badlands. Its mask was sleek, integrated with a neural link that allowed it to control the very drones that now swarmed from its back.
Chapter 4: The Hunt is Alive
The sisters didn’t run. They couldn’t. The Predator had mapped the terrain before they even arrived.
Thistle deployed a gravity-mine, creating a localized distortion field that forced the Predator to uncloak. For a second, she saw it clearly: the mandibles twitching in anticipation, the dreadlocks tipped with silver barbs, and the wrist-blades that hummed with a mono-molecular edge.
“Now!” Thistle signaled.
Payer fired a barrage of EMP rounds. The Predator roared—a sound that was half-organic, half-electronic—as its cloaking sparked and failed. It leaped from the ridge, a terrifying shadow falling over them.
They fought with everything Silas had taught them. Thistle used a high-frequency blade to deflect the Predator’s spear, the sparks illuminating the darkening canyon. The Predator was fast, but Thistle was fueled by a decade of repressed rage against her father.
Every strike she aimed at the beast felt like a strike aimed at Silas.
Chapter 5: The Breaking of the Chain
The fight led them back to the perimeter of the Casket. Silas stood on the balcony, watching through his binoculars. He didn’t fire a shot to help them. He was waiting for the Predator to be weakened enough for him to claim the kill.
“He’s waiting for us to fail,” Payer gasped, clutching a wound on her shoulder.
Thistle looked at the Predator. The creature was bleeding neon-green blood, its breath coming in ragged bursts. It looked at Thistle, and for a fleeting second, there was a mutual recognition. They were both warriors controlled by the commands of their elders.
Thistle made a choice.
Instead of leading the Predator into Silas’s automated turret trap, she threw a smoke grenade at the turrets.
“What are you doing?!” Silas’s voice screamed over the comms.
“Ending the command,” Thistle said.
She lured the Predator upward, toward Silas’s position. The beast, realizing the true source of the threat, bypassed the sisters. It saw the man in the metal suit—the “Alpha” who sat in safety while others bled.
Chapter 6: The Badlands’ Justice
The scream that echoed through the canyon wasn’t Thistle’s. It was Silas’s.
The Predator didn’t kill him quickly. It dismantled him, tearing the mechanical limbs from the flesh until only the man remained. Silas’s “Dark Command” ended in the dirt of the world he had tried to conquer.
Thistle and Payer stood at the base of the ridge. The Predator emerged from the bunker, holding Silas’s mechanical skull. It looked down at the sisters. It had its trophy. It had its honor.
The creature tapped its wrist gauntlet. A ship, hidden in the clouds of Acheron-IV, began to descend.
Thistle didn’t raise her weapon. She simply watched as the hunter took to the stars.
The Badlands were still cold. The dust was still red. But for the first time in her life, Thistle didn’t hear a voice in her ear telling her what to do.
“The command is over,” she whispered to the wind. “The hunt is ours now.”
