"Along the arms and legs, where it had sheathed more than a dozen blades, still more signs of struggle, of desperate life-or-death battles on a hundred worlds. Under single suns and double. Under purple moons. In deserts. In jungles. On lava fields and ice floes. On barren piles of rock that had no atmosphere, beneath the pathetic meandering eye of a white dwarf star."

"Always repaired. Always the same armor. By now, it was memory and conquest and intimidation all at once. All seven feet of it. All four hundred pounds inhabiting it. Some the Predator killed with the plasma cannon before they could run far. Others he brought close and ended by knife and claw. Some fought well. Some fought poorly. But they all died. Every single one would die by morning. There was no doubt. There had never been any doubt." pg.1-2 Chapter 1