The scaly monster carried its prize, squirming futilely in a potato sack, over its shoulder. Once reaching its lair, it looked over its shoulder one last time for meddling followers and then locked the gate with a ruby-encrusted, blood-red key.
The key had the magical ability to change any gate into one of the opener’s wishes. And so the scaly monster found himself standing in the quaint country yard of an old Victorian house. He hauled his heavy prey-filled bag to the door and was greeted by a smiling face. “Daddy!”
“My son!” A warm hug followed. “How’s the Predator business these days?” He shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, Dad. It used to be fun flying to Earth, hunting humans for sport. Their skulls sell well. But I grow weary of it. What am I really contributing to the galaxy?”
“Well son... you’ve come from a very successful line of Predators. I’m sure Aunt Sue would be disappointed if you abandoned the cause, but I think you have to follow your heart. Who knows, maybe it’ll help you appreciate the art of the kill.”