the Predator and the Terminator (T-800) sharing dinner

The air is thick with the scent of charred meat and ozone, the low hum of flickering overhead lights casting an eerie glow over the dim bunker. At a reinforced steel table, two legendary killers sit across from one another—neither speaking, neither blinking.

The Predator leans forward, its massive frame barely contained by the chair. Its mandibles twitch as it tears into a hunk of sizzling alien game, juices dripping onto the table. One clawed hand rests near its wrist gauntlet, the plasma caster still warm from recent use. Its bio-mask lies beside a half-dismantled plasma rifle, the alien hieroglyphs on its surface pulsing faintly. The creature’s golden eyes flick up occasionally, studying its mechanized counterpart with a hunter’s calculating gaze.