Disclaimer: this is a mature story wih violence, moderately gory details, and adult themes and language interspersed throughout the story. Read at your own discretion.
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Image Artist: @anikekirsten
Crouching down in the mud and sludge, you check your weapons to ensure they are loaded.
"Preparedness is often the one thing that sets the good Hunters apart from the dead ones."
Your father's words cling to memory, as if branded with a hot iron. With a wry smile you think to yourself fine words from a man shot over a game of cards... you should've known they would see you carrying the bounty trophy into town for your payday, Pops... For a moment, you are struck by the lack of emotion and cynicism in your own thoughts, but the feeling quickly passes. When all hell breaks loose, the cold and calculated are ultimately the survivors. Emotions and attachment are a luxury, and an expensive one at that...
All loaded up and ready to go. You wipe a smudge of mud from the barrel of your rifle, a lever-action repeater that you took from the hands of a would-be Hunter a few years back. It was either him or me... you think to yourself, remembering the shock on the poor bastard's face when he found himself staring down the barrel of your revolver. Just another day in the Proving Grounds
Proving Grounds… that's what the Hunter's Collective called them. Those fat cats in fancy clothes and shiny black shoes didn't have a clue, though. How could they? First thing they did when the rifts opened up and the plague began to spread was hole themselves up in their comfy little fortresses on the East coast. They severely underestimated the alluring promise of fame and fortune. True men and women flocked to their so-called "Proving Grounds" to clean up the mess and try to make a buck.
A snapping twig interrupts your thoughts and you remain perfectly still - waiting, watching, and listening. Every sound is a herald of danger in this fallen world. It's bad enough that there are hordes of the diseased roaming about; possessed, undead, or hellspawn is probably a better descriptor for them, though. The grunts, as you like to call them, aren't too bad once you get used to them. Sure they look human, but the demon-plague rotted away their humanity and their intellect, making them relatively easy to fool into wandering deeper through the swamp. A Hunter, though, is an entirely different matter. Some are motivated by the siren's call of cold, hard cash. Others are driven by pure hatred of the hellthings that took their families away from them. Still others are simply drawn to the "acceptable" outlet of their inner drive to kill. A true Hunter is cunning, ruthless, and armed to the teeth…
And you are "one of them."
Slowing your breathing to control your heartbeat and lessen the rush of adrenaline naturally coursing through your body, you peer through the gnarled roots and bald knobs of the trees to see what caused the disturbance of the foliage nearby. A figure is shuffling through the brush.
You raise your rifle, leveling it at the approximate place where the figure's head ought to be, but you don't pull the trigger... not yet... every bullet spent is cash out of your pocket - but also a warning signal to every grunt, hellhound, and Hunter in the area. You have to be sure.
A few seconds of observation reveal to you that the figure is walking with a shambling, stumbling sort of gait, and also that they seem to be wheezing and choking a bit more than someone... normal.
Just a grunt. You lower your weapon and stay put. No point in wasting your ammo on that mindless heap of decaying flesh. You turn your attention back to your surroundings, making a mental note of the grunt shuffling around, in case you need a speedy retreat or even a handy distraction.
Normally, you'd be taking a more aggressive approach, but your hunting partner - God rest his soul - has already met his untimely end at the hands of an immolator - tortured souls, barely able to contain the hellfire in their skin, that explode into a fiery inferno if you pierce them.
Greenhorn shouldn't have shot the sonofabitch...
You've opted for a more patient approach, taking your time to move cautiously and meticulously, avoiding the disturbance of wildlife or vegetation. Now, having tracked the monster for which you hold a bounty to the general area of an abandoned chapel and graveyard, you stick to the reeds on the swampy banks for visual cover. The thick grove of cypress trees behind you provides cover in case you must exchange hot lead. You take another deep breath.
Cold and calculated, an adrenaline surge will only dull your senses and cloud your mind.
That's when you hear a blow striking soft flesh and bone in the brush nearby, followed by a body thudding against the ground.
That was the grunt… smart, killing it silently like that. Just not quietly enough…
You swivel back around and raise your rifle once more, careful not to disturb the reeds and betray your position. Through the foliage and gnarled roots, you see a figure, hunched over and moving slowly... deliberately... a Hunter. As they creep forward and begin to wade into the water, you track their movement with the barrel of your rifle. You have a clear shot of their head now. Even if you miss, the waist-deep mud and water impedes their movement - making a followup shot much easier to hit.
You're faced with a choice:
(A.) Pull the trigger and snuff another damned soul before they can do the same to you.
(B.) Attempt to negotiate a partnership with this stranger in the hopes of making the bounty fight a bit easier and leveling the playing field in case any other Hunter Pairs happen upon you while fighting/banishing the bounty.
This, my friends is where you come in. I will be taking a collection of responses in the comments over the next week. Upon the rewards payout, I will tally up all responses and write another installation of this story with randomly generated outcomes based on dice roll. Every post in this series will have a choice at the end where you can meaningfully interact with the story, it will be like a pseudo-DND-style storytelling experience!
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That's all I have for ya'll today. As always: take care of yourselves, take care of each other, and stay thoughtful, my friends.
Your friendly neighborhood dork,
~Thinkr
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