Captain and HunterMature

The Hunter makes a grab for his gun, but Beard Man makes no move to stop him. Still groggy, The Hunter gropes around on the oasis of rock, stranded in this vast beach. Beard man moves into a squat and looks at him. "No more guns for now, Hunter. We need to have a little talk." Beard Man says. He reaches out with worn hands to push The Hunter back down, but stops, moments away from making contact. "Now I know you're quite an experienced man, and the equipment here tells no lies. Guns oiled, in fine condition. I mean, shit, you've got some nice toys here too." Beard Man says, gesturing towards the neat little pile of guns he's made. A strange mix of childish language of profanity. The Hunter is strangely pleased about the compliment. Beard Man returns his hands to his lap and looks back at The Hunter. Dead in the eye. Something about his gaze is unnerving. Like some strange sadness, coupled with such hate and violence, yet a smile brightens his face. "I should probably tell you who i am", The Hunter hears. He barely sees the man's lips move, he is so encapsulated in his eyes. Yet... The promise of a name, perhaps some explanation, breaks his gaze. "As I said, I should probably tell you who I am". Lips moving this time. Yet the next statement is not at all what The Hunter wishes to hear. "Well, I'm not going to do that. However, I will tell you one thing". Beard Man stands, and offers his hand to The Hunter. "I'm The Captain. That's what you'll call me and that's what you'll tell others" He says. Forcefully. The Hunter realises that he's not really in a position to argue. The man moves in such a way that suggests his muscles are tight, constantly ready to lash out at any threat that may present itself. Dangerous indeed is the man who knows how to carry himself this way.

"Now listen closely" The Captain said, facing away from The Hunter. "I need you. Though it pains me to say it, I need help." The Hunter is used to being asked for help. The Lone Clans of his County had asked him many a time. But he had always declined. If he had participated in the wars of the Clans, things would have only escalated. Yet here is a man who ripped him out of that world, asking for his help. The Hunter of the Wastes is being called again. But it's different this time. He feels he should go, and his mind tells him the same. How else can he get back? Besides, The Captain has his guns. "Well?" The Captain says, "Will you help me?". The Hunter slowly rises from the sand. Something has changed. He feels a wind. But not blowing from the outside. Inside somehow. Strange. He looks back up at The Commander. The Captain. Whatever, he thinks. He makes to stare into his eyes, but can't. Such wrath, but yet such <i>pain</i>. Who is this man? A question for later, he decides, The Captain is looking his way now, his face almost troubled that he may no accept the offer. "Fine" He spits out. "But will you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"I have no idea how you got here." The Captain says. He turns away. It seems that's all the explanation The Hunter will be getting. For now. But he feels some truth in the words of The Captain. The Hunter looks up to the sky and sees that it is darkening. A storm? Perhaps. "Not just a storm. Something within the storm too, aye. We should move." The Captain's voice appears out of nowhere. The Hunter glances over towards where his guns are and sees that The Captain has already removed 7, more than half of The Hunter's arsenal, and looped the straps over his shoulder. He seems uneasy about the weapons, but not encumbered by their weight. The Hunter fills his pockets with ammunition and takes the remaining three weapons. Assault rifle, pistol, sniper rifle. Good equipment, he feels The Captain somehow knew to spare him these three items, yet he is not sure how. They begin to move, the figure watching them from the clifftop unaware that they know he's there. The Hunter's slight eye twitches informing The Captain of the presence, The Captain's acknowledgement the gun barrel sweeping towards the figure. They are already beginning to understand each other.

Mere minutes after they have left, the storm hits the cave on the beach. The Barbecue is ripped from the ground and thrown upwards, spiralling as if it were but a leaf in a strong wind, until it comes crashing down into the sea, sending up a sea of foam. The man on the clifftop watches the barbecue on it's journey with interest. An object from a different world, caught up in the storm. He hops down the cliff, the winds buffeting him, slowing his fall, until he pads almost silently onto the stone floor outside the cave. He stares in the direction that his prey went, motionless, the winds flowing around him. He falls to one knee. Knelt in obedience to some unseen force, a voice that only he can hear resounds in his head. He stays knelt for a few seconds more, his insanity eating away at him. He stands, shaking, mind reinforcing itself against it's self-destructive attacks. He finally manages to steady himself, but the storm has passed on. He watches the cloud formations, tossed about by the mighty winds, as they disappear into the distance. He's wasted enough time already, especially now that the storm has gone. He begins to run, sprinting in the direction that his prey went. The man with the beard and the one in the funny rubber suit. He sprints down the path, frantically trying to keep his balance and look everywhere at once. They could be too far ahead of him. They could have gone a different direction. He runs and runs. He can't lose his prey. Not now, not this time. He must prove himself. For father.

The Captain and The Hunter lie in a bush. The Hunter has done this so many times before. He hears the footsteps, feels the ground shaking. The enemy is alone. The rush of wind as the feet run past. He waits, listening to the footsteps, waiting for his quarry to be far enough away. There. The Hunter stands and fires. A simple shot, he barely bothers to aim. Three bullets, and the prey falls. Teach it to hunt The Hunter. He laughs, and The Captain rises, smiling.

Falling, falling to the ground. The man from the cliff feels the first gunshot pierce his flesh. Then the second, trying to dive to the side, but it is too late, he barely manages to push against the ground when the third shot rips his side open, spinning him round. He spins, and falls, face hitting the rough dirt of the path. His back torn to shreds, his blood leaks out on to the dust. Here he will fall, only human, killed by enemies he knew nothing about. His first prey, and his last. He tries to strain his neck round, tries to see his attackers one more time, but alas, he cannot. He draws in his final breath and whispers to the earth as he dies. O Discordia. But the earth does not hear him, it does not respond. No help arrives. The man on the cliff - Reginald the young, dies with nothing. Only human. Only the first in this world killed by The Hunter. But for a good cause? Perhaps. The Captain now knows the deadly efficiency that The Hunter deals out. Simple shots, to the back. A quick kill. But The Hunter sees a different side to the kill. A man who has dealt death to many, he is surprised. He missed. At the last second, the wind blew him. His gun moved down, altering his target. Taking the moment for what it was worth before it could get away, he squeezed the trigger. Here came the second surprise. The target went to turn, to see it's attacker. It should have been dead by the second bullet, incapable of moving with a shattered spine. Met his prey had turned, it had tried to see him. Of course, he had ended the struggle to turn, another bullet whipping the being back around to die on the floor, yet The Hunter had been shaken. Only slightly, but he had. And The Captain had seen, aye. And he watched The Hunter as the disbelief had woken in his eyes. Oh, but he watched him as he banished the disbelief too, and solved the problem the best way he knew. With another bullet. The Hunter deals in lead, and that's exactly what The Captain needs.

The End

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