//------------------------------//
// Chapter 5 
// Story: The Hunter 
// by HunterBraxton 
//------------------------------//


The Hunter
Chapter5


Hunter stood in the shower letting the hot water run over him. He leaned his head against the wall, reaching up, he adjusted the water flow so it would continue to cover him.  He had a lot of questions, but no answers. Why was he here? Should he try to be friendly with the locals? How was the electricity still on? How the actual fuck was he getting phone calls across dimensions?  How was he getting hot water right now?

This actually began to bother Hunter. Should he hurry up before all the hot water was gone? No, if the electricity is on then he should still have hot water, and the water pressure doesn't come from the water heater. It comes from the water main. But if he was in a different dimension then how is he still connected to the main? He pushed these thoughts from his head, it was working now and as far as he could tell it would continue to work, and that was all that mattered. 

He tried to think about something better, like his vehicles. At least he has a source of fuel for them. Or does he have infinite gas like his water and electricity? He'd have to find out. Where would he even drive to? There didn't appear to be any paths or roads through the forest, but then again he hadn't really looked. On his excursions he had used his natural sense of direction to guide him home. Then another thought hit him. If they were still in the twenties, then shouldn't they still be using leaded gasoline? 

"Fuck," He said.

Well this sucks. If the gas was leaded he could still drive the VW at least. Unleaded didn't become standard until 1974, the year it was built. But the engine in it had been pretty much the same for many years beforehand, it was built for leaded. Hunter would just have to be more careful handling it, a small amount on your hand is enough to cause health problems. 

"Why do I have to get dumped in a universe with no technology, if I wanted that I would've gone to Alabama."

He began to think about the ponies some. He could use their lack of technology to his advantage. They were probably still using flat-heads and he doubted they had even considered an eight cylinder engine. He could make millions, no, no, BILLIONS off his human knowledge.

Maybe getting stuck here wasn't so bad after all. I mean, the locals couldn't be all bad, could they? He could date one, given enough time. He'd have to get used to the idea first, after all, they are different species. At least he wouldn't be lonely. He might have to wait till he makes his fortune before that happens, even though he may eventually accept them on that level, there's no guarantee they will reciprocate it. If their women are anything like human women they usually become a dime a dozen if you have enough money. 

The girls that he had seen yesterday were kinda cute. Especially the purple one. He wasn't sure why she in particular caught his interest. Maybe it was because she looked nerdy to him, he always had a thing for nerdy chicks. He had noticed that she wore classes, not geek glasses, just regular glasses. They made her look intelligent and distinguished. 

"I wonder, if I got through to their world, have any of them gotten through to mine?" Hunter wondered aloud.

Now, although Hunter didn't have a regular day job, he did have an employer who would call upon him when needed. A very secretive employer who paid Hunter to do what he did best, and paid rather handsomely at that. His employer was the type that dealt with things that the public would not accept, the types of things that go bump in the night. 

Or the type of things that rip you to pieces just for looking at its face, and don't die, ever, no matter how many times you shoot the bastard.

Both are accurate. Granted, the mobile team that dealt with the second one used regular bullets instead of holy bullets. Hunter remembered the day he began working for them well. 





Thomasville, GA. March 9, 2012.

The sky was clear as Hunter and Cody walked through the student parking lot of Thomas County Central High School, or Central for short. It had been almost a year since Hunter had been shot. Through several months of surgery and physical therapy he was back to his old self. He could see his and Cody's car's up ahead. Unlike before, there was no gang of friends gathered around. No, since it had become cool to hate Hunter most of his friends had ditched him. They couldn't risk their social lives being ruined hanging around him. Correction, they couldn't risk their lives being around him as most people would say. His girlfriend was long gone too. She came to see him in the hospital a couple of times, but as the story spread like wildfire she talked to him less and less until she told him he had issues she wasn't going to stick around to deal with.

Ouch.

However, There was one man in a black suit standing next to Hunter's Volks. He was also wearing a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, his black hair was short and his face was clear of any stubble.

"Uh oh, Hunter, looks like someone wants to see you," Cody said.

"Great, looks like a lawyer," he replied. "He probably thinks he's gonna make a buck off of me."

As the two got closer the man turned to face them. He had a small grin on his face, trying to appear welcoming.

Tigers look cute and cuddly too until they try to kill you.

"Mr. Braxton, I presume?" The man asked. His voice sounded warm and friendly, however in the past months Hunter had quickly learned how to see through it. He had been approached by several attorneys whom tried to convince him to sue the family's of Jacob and the other boy; who he found out was named Derek. Hunter had turned down each opportunity. What did he have to gain from them? Both families were struggling before he killed their sons. He had no right to take anymore from them. 

"Yes, I am. If you're here to offer to sue for me, I'm not interested. Or are you here to serve me papers?" Hunter asked.

"Nothing of the sort, I'm no lawyer, I'm here to offer you an employment opportunity ."

Hunter raised an eyebrow at this. Looking the man up and down he said, "Employment where? The men in black?" Eliciting a chuckle from the man before him. 

"No, we will have to discuss the work you will be doing in a more private setting," he said, taking a business card out of his jacket,"come by my office in an hour." He then turned and climbed into a black Mercedes with tinted window and drove away.

"So, are you actually going to go talk to him?" Cody asked. 

"Sure, I could use money." He looked at the card. At the top was the name John Lynch, underneath was the Letters SCP and an address; 116 Broad Street. 

One hour later

Hunter Stood in front of the old brick building which was situated in the downtown area. People were walking along the sidewalk visiting stores. Cars rolled along on the brick paved street behind him. The front of the building before him was all windows with a pair of doors in the middle. Above giant white letters spelled out Grassroots Coffee Company. Through the windows he could see people sitting at tables enjoying their drinks, many of these people were what could be considered hipsters. Hunter was tempted to turn around and leave. He hated coffee, it never sat right with him. And the hated the type of people who spend $7 on a shitty coffee. Hell, he just hated coffee culture in general. But Mr. Lynch wouldn't have gone so far out of his way to offer him a job as a Barista. He pushed open the door and walked in. Most people paid him no mind, a few from the high school looked at him with disgust. He walked towards the counter, hoping someone could point him in the right direction. Making his way through the shop he noticed a familiar figure sitting in the back corner.

Lynch was sitting in the back at a table for two, he had his legs crossed with his hands folded together on top. He still had the same grin as he did earlier. Hunter took the seat across from him.

"Mr. Braxton, I'm glad you decided to come me. Do you like coffee?" he said.

"No, sir, I do not."

"Then why did you come in?"

"You didn't go out of your way to meet me just to make me a barista, come on now."

He chuckled, "Right you are, how about we move on to my office?"

"Lead the way," Hunter said, standing from his chair. Lynch followed suit and lead him to the back. The duo walked down a hallway which had a few doors for the store rooms and management on the sides, and one door at the far end. As they approached the far door Hunter noticed an odd keypad next to it. Instead of the usual buttons, it was more like a tablet mounted to the wall. Lynch put his hand flat against it, a red line scanned his hand from top to bottom. He removed his hand and the screen lit up with a green check mark. Then there was a soft click as the door unlocked. Lynch opened it and Hunter was greeted by the sight of two armed guards standing on either side of an elevator. Engraved into the doors of the elevator was a circle with three arrows pointing into the center of it, underneath it was the letters SCP, underneath that Site 17 was written.

"Right this way, Mr. Braxton," he said. One of the guards pushed the button for the elevator, making the doors open. The two stepped inside, there was only two buttons on the inside. One with an arrow pointed up, and one with an arrow pointed down, Lynch pushed the latter. The doors closed and Hunter could feel himself being lowered into the earth. Soon it reached its destination with a ding and both men stepped off. It had dropped them into a modern looking lobby. There were a few guards about and a reception desk at the far end. Above the desk was the same logo and lettering as before.

"Mr. Lynch?" Hunter asked.

"Yes?"

"I wasn't wrong about men in black was I?"

"That's an easy was to put it." 

The two continued to walk, taking a right at the reception desk. Lynch led him to an office only a few doors down. He entered a code on a keypad above the handle and turned it. His office was styled the same way as the lobby before. It had a desk with a PC to the side in the middle of the room. In front were two chairs, and the wall behind was built in cabinets in the center with bookcases on each side. In the bottom row of cabinets was what appeared to be a mini fridge.

"Please, take a seat," he said, and so Hunter did. "Can I offer you a drink? Coke, Sprite, water?"

"Bourbon  whiskey," Hunter replied. Lynch looked and him and smiled, a genuine smile for once. He opened one of the cabinets and inside was a collection of glasses and decanters. He took two glasses and put a few ice cubes from the fridge in each. Then he grabbed one of the decanters and poured some of the golden liquid in each. He handed one to Hunter and he took a sip. The alcohol burned slightly as it hit the back of his throat, but it went down rather smoothly; and Hunter enjoyed it. 

"So, I suppose you are wondering exactly where you are?"

"I'm a bit curious," Hunter said, taking another sip.

"We are the SCP Foundation. Secure, contain, protect. Our job is to keep the supernatural forces of the world contained so as not to interfere with the common populace. We span the globe with agents in every major military, police force, and hospital. Whenever something odd pops up we know, and we handle it. As per procedure the anomaly is transported to one of our secure facilities. This being one of them, Minimum security Site 17 to be precise."

"Exactly, what type of ... anomalies do you keep here? Being minimum security and all," Hunter asked.

"Site 17 is for the research and containment of safe class humanoid anomalies. Many of which you will get to meet during your time here. Now, as I understand, you are a very skilled hunter. Correct?"

"Best damn one in Thomasville."

"Good, good. You see, the responsibilities of this site aren't limited to just research and containment. We are the major response center for this area of the country. Sometimes the situations we are called to are not people with strange abilities or household objects that cause destruction, but they are actively dangerous anomalies. We either call them euclids or keters, based on the threat level. And of course, those threats need to be taken care of. For the most part they are recurring threats, such as hell hounds or wendigoes,  things that just keep popping up, and the easiest way to contain them is to simply eliminate them."

"I won't have to kill people will I?"

"For the most part no." This answer is not what Hunter wanted to hear.

"I don't want to kill people." He didn't like killing the last two, and he hoped he wouldn't have to do it again.

"Well, they won't be innocent people. We would never order you to hunt and kill someone who can be contained. But every now and then there will be someone who poses a direct threat to humanity. Like terrorists, or vampires. You wouldn't mind killing a rogue vampire would you? They go about killing innocents all the time."

"I suppose in those cases I would be fine. Wait... vampires are real?"

"Yes, and sadly there is no cure, for the most part they are picked up at hospitals and brought in for research, not at this site though."

"Wow. Now for the sixty thousand dollar question. How much are you willing to pay me?" He said, sipping on his whiskey.

"We are willing to pay you three hundred dollars a day to be on standby in case we need your expertise. When you are called in for a mission you can expect many thousands of dollars upon completion."

"You had my attention, now you have my interest. Where do I sign?" He said. Lynch gave a hearty laugh.

"I have the paperwork right here. There is a nondisclosure agreement you will have to sign, along with the standard paperwork involving your direct deposit paychecks and the taxes that go along with them." 

He spread the paperwork in front of Hunter, who quickly filled it out and handed it back.

"Very well, welcome to the SCP, Mr. Braxton." He stood and extended his arm to Hunter. He stood up and grasped his new bossman's hand in a firm grip.

"Good to be here, sir."





"Good times, good times." Hunter said to himself. He quickly finished up his shower, got dressed, and went back into his bedroom. He noticed his revolver still hanging on the back of his lazy chair, it had a bit of dirt on it from the night before. He grabbed a carton of Rem oil wipes and his belt holster. Hunter took a seat at the bar in his kitchen and took his pistol out of its holster. Cocking the hammer back two clicks he slid the unloading rod back and ejected the first cartridge. An empty brass casing fell out and landed on the counter with a ping. He turned the cylinder and popped out the rest one at a time. Once they were all out he pulled the cylinder out completely. A bit of movement in the tree line out the kitchen window across from him suddenly took his attention. He stared at the trees and saw nothing, shrugging, he chocked it up to being a squirrel. 

He took one of his wipes and wiped down the pistol very well. He couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship that was put into this weapon. It was all black with black grips. The frame and barrel were engraved with american vine scroll impressions. On the right side of the barrel the name Calypso was engraved. He quickly turned his attention back to the window, he had seen a dark silhouette just at the edge, this was no squirrel. Hunter quickly reassembled his pistol and slid the cartridges back in, taking one fresh one from his belt. He put his belt around his waste and re-holstered his firearm. He got up and left his house via the back door. Keeping his right hand resting on his piece he walked around the side of the house. He got all the way around to the front and hadn't seen anything. Hunter was now standing on his driveway behind his truck. He stopped moving, he could feel something in the air. Looking at the back window of his truck he saw what was causing that feeling. Behind him was a black stallion with a jet black mane. Hunter couldn't believe what he was seeing. How the hell did this motherfucker find him?

Hunter tightened his grip around the revolver, still keeping his eye on the reflection on the window. Suddenly the stallion raised a machete above his head. Thinking quickly Hunter turned and drew his pistol, side stepping the swinging machete. He raised his Peacemaker and pointed it at the stallion's head. Hunter pulled back the hammer and fired, but the stallion flicked his head to the side and he missed. The stallion then swung his machete again, Hunter jumped back dodging it, the blade missing his stomach by fractions of an inch. The stallion swung again and again, each time Hunter stepped to the side, causing him to miss. The stallion swung one more time, this time Hunter catching him by the wrist. Hunter swung his pistol above him to bring it down on his head, but he jerked back once again making him miss. The stallion then shot his free fist forward, catching Hunter straight on the right cheek. This made Hunter loose his grip and stumble back.

Before Hunter could get reoriented and fire again the stallion thrust his leg at Hunter, hitting him in the stomach causing him to fall to the ground. The stallion loomed above him, Hunter raised his pistol again, then the stallion kicked it out of his hand. Hunter looked at the Stallion, he had his machete raised above his head, poised to thrust it into his chest. He started to make his move and Hunter made his by rolling to the side, the blade narrowly missing him. Hunter quickly shot his leg up at the stallion, impacting just at the bottom of his rib cage. The stallion stumbled back and braced himself against the truck. Taking his chance Hunter jumped up and swung his right fist at the stallion, putting his whole upper body into the punch. He caught him right on his muzzle, Hunter immediately went for a left hook and got the stallion on his other cheek. He threw his right fist again, his knuckles coming into contact with his nose, which crumpled from the impact. The stallion dropped his machete and grabbed his face, turning his back on Hunter. Hunter quickly brought his elbow down on the back of the stallion's head, causing him to fall to the ground. With his opponent temporarily incapacitated Hunter turned around and quickly looked for his pistol. Spotting it a few feet away he quickly grabbed it and pointed it at the stallion who was now trying to stand up again. 

"I gotta say, man, you put up a pretty good fight." Hunter said.

"That isn't how this was supposed to go down."

"Yeah, I bet you weren't expecting a fight."

"No, you're supposed to just scream and let me kill you, and you're not supposed to have that," the stallion said, pointing at Hunter's gun and breathing heavy.

"What? This?" Hunter said, gesturing to his pistol. "Are they illegal or something?"

"Yes that, and no, they're not illegal. It's just that victims aren't supposed to fight back or have weapons."

"Yeah, see, that's the thing right there. I'm not a victim."

"But you're alone in a house in the middle of the forest."

"Yeah, and?"

"And I'm a serial killer. Haven't you ever seen a horror movie?"

"Yes, several, most of them were shit. But, uh, this isn't a fucking movie, dumbass."

"Well, that's how all the rest of my murders played out."

"Well, that's not how this one is gonna play out."

"Damn, well this was a total failure. Hey, I got a question, what are you?"

"I'm a human. What are you?"

"A pony, an earth pony actually."

"What's up with all the wings and horns on some of the others?"

"Well horns are for unicorns, who are gifted with magic. And wings are for pegasai who are gifted with flight."

"And you would be a stallion, correct?" The stallion nodded. "And females are mares, right?" he nodded again.

"Welp, since this was a total flop I'm going home."

Hunter inhaled sharply, "Ooo. Yeah, about that, see, I can't just let a serial killer just walk away to continue killing, and also, I can't have the rest of you finding out I'm here."

The stallion narrowed his eyes at Hunter. "What are saying?"

"I'm saying I can't let you leave."

"Oh, you have to kill me." Hunter nodded. "Well, buck, should've seen this coming." 

"If you worship any gods, I can give you a minute to pray."

"No, we don't really worship anyone, just get it over with."

"I'm sorry," Hunter said. He cocked back the hammer with a soft clickclickclickclick

"One more thing, what's your name?"

"My name is Hunter." The stallion closed his eyes and nodded, opening them again he looked Hunter dead in the eye.

Hunter pulled the trigger.

BOOM

He dropped to the ground, a bullet in his head. Hunter re-holstered his gun, looking around he thought about what he should do next. 

"Well, I guess he deserves a proper burial." He said. Hunter gathered up a shovel and a wheelbarrow. He loaded the stallion onto the wheelbarrow and took him into the forest. He came upon a nice clearing with a big oak tree in the middle. Hunter took the shovel and began digging at the base of the tree. Two hours later he had a decent hole dug. He took the stallion and laid him in the hole with his legs and back straight and his arms across his chest. Satisfied that he was in a respectful position Hunter covered the grave. 

Hunter wanted to feel bad for what he had done, but he just couldn't. The stallion wasn't human. He wasn't a person. He was pretty much just an animal to Hunter. And on top of that he was a serial killer. Once Hunter had returned home he put his tools away and considered what he was gonna do next.

"You know, I think I want to go fishing."