I don't own L4D. Yet. My friend wondered what the Hunter's POV would be like, and that eventually turned into this.
Author's Note: Light italics are character thoughts. Got that?
The Hunter brought the razor-sharp claws granted to it by the Infection down onto … a pack of hamburgers. The packet tore with almost no pressure, and the Hunter grabbed one and threw it onto the nearby grill, activating it as the hamburger fell.
What?
Simple. You grill the food to avoid getting … salmonella. If it weren't a disease, it'd be a good name for a cat.
Grill?
Yes, a grill.
Grill?
The thing in front of us.
Grill.
Yes, grill.
The words between Hunter and human mind didn't really matter. It was the emotions behind the words. The Hunter wasn't smart enough to understand most of the conversation or, God forbid, talk in complete sentences. It was learning to associate words and images.
Eat?
Of course, my friend. This grill will cook the burger to perfection, and we should have enough to last the evening.
Eat.
With that final statement, the Hunter's mind released happy endorphins. The human mind felt them too. The Hunter's personality was dominant, but treated the human as the decision-maker. Unfortunately, the Hunter got to taste the tastes, smell the scents that filled the city, and control the body most of the time. The human got the eyes and control of the body some of the time. The Hunter used echolocation and didn't rely on eyes anyway.
The Hunter, dressed in black cargo pants, a grey work shirt, and a grey leather jacket, hardly blended in with the others. Kevlar wasn't easily available, so a leather jacket was the next best thing for taking bullets and blades. The Hunter didn't like the jacket because of the weight, but after he showed it how it was useful, the Hunter had practically demanded it. Besides, if the Hunter ultimately decided the extra protection wasn't worth the tradeoff, it could always dump the jacket in the lair.
Food finished?
Very good, my friend. The food is finished.
The Hunter felt pride at figuring it out. The human was absorbed in the past and future, and the Hunter thought only of the present.
The Hunter turned the grill off, inhaling the scent of well-done burger. The Hunter would have preferred rare, but well-done would do.
In seconds, the burger was finished, and the Hunter felt a pang of disappointment.
Then a gigantic explosion went off. The Hunter turned and saw the explosion and residue, maybe two or three miles away.
Fresh food.
Yes, I suppose it is. Now, don't …
The Hunter leaped over the fencing toward the commotion, screeching happily as it leapt.
No screeching!
Screech?
Yelling.
Yell?
Quiet!
The Hunter knew the meaning of quiet, having been told several times, and stopped.
Why no screeching?
It was the first time the Hunter had actually asked why. Before this, when told to stop, it simply did.
They rely on it. No screeching, more unaware prey to eat.
More food?
Yes. More food for the two of us.
The Hunter leaped, hardly going as far as it had been.
Drop the jacket.
The Hunter had probably been waiting for command, tearing the jacket off as quickly as possible while leaping through the air.
Nothing compared to leaping about, almost as free as a bird. The crowds of Infected below tore into each other if they got too hungry, and fellow Hunters were all too eager to massacre their own, simply to reduce the competition. But that was only a problem if you stayed down too long.
The Infected had an aristocracy, if one could call it that. The human mind chuckled at the thought. Infected being civilized enough to realize their superiors. Then again, what could he expect? The Infected weren't like vampires in the movies he liked; they were more like the zombies in movies Zoey loved. The Infected were like the 28 Days Later zombies.
Zombies?
Us, my friend.
Infected zombies?
I suppose so. I must admit, I'm impressed by the level of sophistication you've reached.
The Hunter remained silent and concentrated on leaping toward the sound.
Stop. Run with the commoners.
The Hunter knew what the human meant. Jog with the common Infected. Too many Hunters already leaping toward the disturbance meant the survivors would be very aware of the problems.
Improvising will get us food, my friend. Just watch and learn.
The Hunter watched as his brethren leaped far faster than the commoners ran, and heard guns and swearing up ahead. The Hunter could his brethren dying quickly. The survivors were armed to the teeth. Assault rifles, hunting rifles, maybe a minigun somewhere.
The Hunter stopped and sniffed the air, ignoring the Infected shoving their way past him. There was a cocktail of chemicals up ahead. The survivors must have had Kevlar they had forgotten to wash. It may have stopped bullets, but it stank to high hell and made him thankful for leather.
The ground beneath the Hunter began to rumble.
Tank?
Jump already!
The Hunter jumped toward a wooden fence, dodging a Tank that seemed eager to bat other Infected out of its way.
Hide! Run!
From a Tank? You must be joking.
Hide!
Relax. We're over here, and the Tank …
The human mind swallowed his words as a piece of concrete sailed through the air. The Hunter ducked seconds before the concrete knocked down most of the fence. They were close to the survivors. If the Hunter wanted to kill the Tank, he'd have to beat the survivors to it.
Kill?
The Tank? How are we going to do that?
"Get some! Get some!" one of the survivors shouted. It was a petite blonde girl with a hunting rifle. She clearly wasn't used to taunting Infected, and was being encouraged by the others.
Pounce, pounce, pounce!
No. Wait for the others, and once they're distracted, we pounce.
The other survivors just noticed the tank, and everybody started firing at it. The Tank provided the perfect opportunity.
Now!
The Hunter crouched, using the common Infected as a wall, and leapt toward the survivor covered in Kevlar.
Look at the eyes.
The Hunter concentrated on the survivor. The survivor's green eyes silently pleaded for mercy. He probably had been called from his native city to deal with the Infected, and had a wife and family waiting for him.
But the primal instincts weren't concerned with it. The claws had difficult time with Kevlar, but it tore open after a few seconds of struggle. The other survivors hadn't even noticed. The Tank was still taking most of their firepower, but it had been seriously wounded.
The survivor screamed as the Hunter ripped open his stomach. The other survivors couldn't hear over the screaming of Infected being shot to death.
Concrete flew over the Hunter's head and obliterated a survivor, crushing him against a sedan. The car alarm only attracted more Infected.
The Tank's dying cries alerted the Hunter, and he stopped ripping the survivor. It was time to leave while he could. He'd gotten enough of a meal, anyway. Fresh blood stained his teeth now. The common Infected were dying by the dozen, thanks to a minigun, and the Hunter had no intention of dying with them. The Hunter ran for dear life, which seemed even more precious when fellow Infected were dying all around you.
Author's Notes: I will give the Hunter a name. Eventually. Suggestions for the story are appreciated.