A/N:

January 2018 Update: This story has been revised a little bit as of Jan '18. Sorry for those that read it earlier, but basically I just removed about 8k words of complete uselessness from the beginning so we dive into the meat of the story faster. I'm also still writing, but when it's 100% completed it will be uploaded in one go. Thanks


Fifty Years Ago

The small town's tavern is usually quiet on weekday mornings, but not on the day of the Hunt. The majority of the town's adults squash together and talk in hurried voices to the tavern's bet takers.

An obnoxiously large screen nailed to a brick wall begins to flash in a series of numbers and statistics.

Age.

Height.

Weight.

Muscle to fat ratio.

Mugshots of scared boys and angry men follow their personal page of statistics shortly after, before the screen turns black and a two minute countdown sequence takes over. A flurry of shouts and sounds of scribbling overtakes the tavern as unruly customers try to get their voices heard while there's still time.

"Nine!" a bookkeeper yells. "There are nine ferals this year. Who had their bets for nine? The oldest is fifty-two, and the youngest—"

He's drowned out by another bookie. "We have seventy seconds people! Get your bets in now for who will be the winner of this year's Hunt. No time to calculate the stats so all odds are three-to-one, place your bets, place your bets. Who will die first? Will any die at all? Who are sea creatures, mammals, insects? Quickly, quickly."

Thirty seconds.

The screen shifts to show the boys and men again, but instead of a mugshot they're shown live, chained to poles by a strong metal collar clasped around their necks. The image separates into blocks to showcase each of the unwilling contestants' location. All of them are surrounded by dense trees, rocks, or marshy water.

"We have a jungle this year!" the first bookkeeper starts up again. "Who guessed jungle?"

"It's always a damn jungle. For the past three years it's been a damned jungle. They have no originality," one man shouts back.

Three. Two. One.

"That's it, pens down boys, no more betting!"

The timer clicks to zero and instantly the latches to the males' collars open, releasing them onto the jungle floor. A few clutch at their bruised necks while others begin to sprint. Some of the smarter ones try to get their bearings and map their environment before they move.

They're nowhere near each other.

After the first televised Hunt the hosts realised it was too easy to reach the finish line if the men could work together, and the whole point, supposedly, was to figure out which men were individually the strongest, fiercest, or most suited to survival. It just wouldn't do to have the weak ones finish after being carried by the strong, and they needed strong soldiers for war.

It only takes twenty minutes before one of the Hunters, who've paid generously for the opportunity to Hunt, stumbles across one of the younger boys who's huddling in fear behind thorny, dry bushes.

"Now, now, boy," the Hunter taunts, waving a device in his hand. "I've got a radar so I know you're here. I'm no monster, I'll be sure to put you down real quick, yeah? You won't feel a thing."

The Hunter clips the radar back onto his military belt as he reaches around his back for a rifle. "Out of there now. I'm giving you the chance to die on your feet like a man."

He flicks the safety off the rifle at the same time the boy lets out a groan as he shifts down into his second form. It doesn't fool the Hunter, who carefully circles the bush and nudges the tip of the gun through the boy's discarded clothes.

A tiny snail, barely bigger than a button, crawls out of the sleeve. The Hunter, with a sadistic smirk, twirls the gun so the heavy butt is aimed to the ground, and with a quick thud and audible crunch he crushes it flat.

"You were too scrawny to be a soldier anyway. I did you a favour."

The tavern's screen shows the splintered shell and gooey remains of the boy-turned-snail being scrapped off the rifle and placed into a plastic sleeve as a trophy for the Hunter, but nobody is paying too much attention. They're arguing over whether a snail is considered an insect or not and how much money they've potentially lost.

By the time it's all over, sixteen hours later, only three of the original boys and men have made it to the end. Splattered in blood, gore, and dirt they pack themselves into the helicopter waiting with military personnel who hand them new uniforms.

Before it cuts to static, the screen replays a message that's been replayed a thousand times before to the population: if you see or hear any activity that may be irregular for humans, please contact Fera Control or your nearest police department. Your silence may cost lives. Our great nation thanks you for your cooperation.


Present Day

Predators. There are predators all around me.

I can't see them and I can't hear them but there's a faint smell in the air that doesn't belong with the peaceful nature of the forest. Bitter ash and metal from weapons much more fearsome than a grizzly bear.

My nose tests the air every few minutes trying to find my way away from the bad odours. To run in any direction that smells clean.

It's hard – it seems these beings have been everywhere. Every urine soaked tree and strange paw print I pass kicks up my adrenaline and my heart races erratically. They're not even trying to hide downwind. They must be confident beings, just like my second skin is, or maybe they've stopped hunting me.

That's unlikely though. These tall, two-legged creatures always reek of violence and aggression. I don't think they'll ever stop hunting.

I continue to run until my limbs threaten to collapse under me. I run hard and long, jumping over fallen logs and ducking under branches. My lithe body barely makes a sound. A few of the small rabbits I pass begin to run with me, spurred on by my fear.

It takes a while but the further away I get the more I'm able to relax. My mind slowly calms along with my body when the smells, sights, and sounds of the forest returns to a less scary sort of normal. A cool breeze ruffles my fur, kicking up stray leaves from around the area and I jump up to catch some in my mouth playfully, almost completely at ease now, slowly gaining my energy back.

My second skin's consciousness comes forward to the surface to share my space with me. I can feel her disapproval at my antics. Why she's disapproving I don't know - these leaves taste great; fresh and minty.

I always welcome her presence when it comes, this predator that also walks on two legs.

Although she shares the same form with them I feel only comfort and trust both from her to me, and from me to her. She may share the monsters' form but she's not one herself.

I need... cabin... graduation, she tries to mentally speak to me. Unfortunately we can't communicate with each other properly except through feelings and the occasional disjointed sentence. I hope... your run, Miss Jane Doe, because… long time.

These words mean nothing to me, they rarely do with her, but my body turns nonetheless in the direction she wants me to go as if controlled by her will alone. I don't mind too much; the grass is beautifully soft and green under my hooves and I'm able to pick up a few stray berries and fruit that have fallen to the ground.

Delicious.


"Isabella Swan."

With a large, fake smile plastered on my face, I make my way over to the middle of the stage. A few catcalls and hoots ring out through the hall from some of the more adventurous boys, like they have with every girl they deemed pretty enough.

A quick handshake, a pose for the camera, and I'm walking back to my seat with my high school certificate in hand. My smile lasts until the second I'm back down in my assigned chair.

I lean forward to rest my head in my hands, rubbing the bridge of my nose hard.

The switch to my Fera form this morning was unsurprisingly hard but it was the first opportunity I had in a long while to do so, and I promised myself it's going to be the last. At least until I'm old and retired. And hopefully by then I'll be living on some private land far, far away from people so I can change without fear of being seen or attacked.

I avoid making the change to Jane as much as I can. Not only do I lose most of my reason while in my doe skin - making it impossible to command the shift back when I need to and relying completely on her instincts to not get hurt or caught - but her dominant traits remain with me for hours after I return.

And the dominant traits of a deer? My doe in particular? Fright and timidness.

Just shaking the principal's hand made me almost lose it.

Oh well, it could've been a lot worse. I'll take being a skittish, frightened doe over a cockroach or dung beetle anyday.

I lean back and tune the rest of the ceremony out. It's not too hard, especially when the valedictorian gives her speech, which is mostly a humble brag about how she's moving on to a great future in politics and wishes us the same success. She must've been told what her career was early. I tamper down my envy and politely clap with one hand along with the others when she finishes.

"A bit much, isn't she," Eric, the kid sitting next to me, whispers. He runs his damp hand over his trousers before re-adjusting his jacket. "I hope I didn't bother you with all my fidgeting. I'm not normally such a wreck."

"I didn't notice."

"I'm just really nervous about today, you know?"

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. "I know what you mean. I think everyone's nervous today, what with graduating and receiving our career letters on the same day. I know I am. I'm dreading going home and learning what they've saddled me with for the next fifty years of my life."

Career letters. The letter stamped with an official government seal, that describes in complete detail what your future will be. Your job. Your new city. Your life.

Every high school graduate receives one and the position assigned is non-negotiable. They're supposedly tailored to each individual, based off not just their results during school, but what personality attributes the teachers believed they possess. Most students just pray for an airconditioned desk job.

"I'm dreading it too," Eric says. "I've talked to a few of the teachers about it hoping to sway their recommendations for me so I can get work as an editor or author. I'd even take a minor librarian position despite the low pay. Anything to do with books."

"Is that why I always seem to bump into you at the library?"

"Yeah, I guess," he smiles. "It sounds dumb—"

He cuts himself off when a hand grabs my arm and sharply pulls me away to the side in such a brutal manner it sends twinges of pain up to my elbow.

"Sorry, Yorkie. I need to talk to Bella now. Girl stuff. You understand."

I allow Jessica, my friend — or is the term frenemy? — to drag me away from Eric and the emptying seats, and towards our own little ragtag group. Seeing Eric's bewildered face makes me want to go back and apologise but what was I going to do? Yank my arm away and assert myself? Unlikely. Even if her grip is extremely painful.

"Sorry!" I call out as I go. "I'll talk to you later!"

Also unlikely.

Today's the last day I'll see anyone from high school again and acting like a normal human girl means spending it with the people I hung out with regularly for the last few years. Jessica, Angela, and... ergh, Mike.

"Am I your life saver, or what?" Jessica chirps from my side. "Eric is such a weirdo. And could he be any more obvious about his puppy crush on you?"

"He doesn't have a crush on her," both Angela and Mike say instantly at the same time.

Angela is the other girl of our trio and Mike is, well, a flirty unwanted nuisance. The three of them are so different in looks but still so similar in manner that I always feel like the odd one out with my reserved personality compared to their pep.

"He does have a crush," Jessica continues, "but trust me, Ang, you don't want anything to do with him. That goes for you too, Bella."

"Nobody wants anything to do with him," Mike says snidely, throwing a hand in Eric's direction, who's shuffling his feet as people walk around him. Back to being a nervous wreck. "Besides, I'm strong and brainy. Everything a girl wants is right here. Right, Bella?"

Mike's arm slings over my shoulder as he crushes me into his side. Brainy is definitely not the word I would use for Mike but I can't deny his strength. He and Jessica have that in common.

I release a nervous laugh while trying to maneuver away from him. "Sure, Mike."

"As if a girl wants anything from you, idiot," Angela says.

Thanking her silently for Mike's distracted attention I slide out my phone.

"Excuse me," I say, finally wiggling out of his hold. "I'm going to call my dad to see if he's received my career letter yet."

I walk a little way a ways, pretending to be dialing numbers and pressing the phone against my ear. Sighing internally I count to twenty and pretend to hang up. So pathetic.

Charlie wouldn't be home yet from the police station and I definitely don't want to hear what my career will be over the phone. I'd just humiliate myself by crying. My overwhelmingly poor grades, that I tried hard to receive on purpose, will probably put me in a labor factory position somewhere in the country. Working tirelessly in the heat, day in day out, for little pay for the rest of my life.

Walking back to the group I shrug apologetically. "No answer. What were you guys talking about?"

"The usual: how gross Mike is."

"Oh." I fumble to think of something that doesn't involve him. "Are you going to call about your career letters?"

Jessica scoffs. "No, I don't really care what they think I'm good at. I'll just marry some old rich guy and quit anyway. Then I'll see you all at my trial a year later." She holds her hand over her mouth as if in shock. "Poisoned? Oh no. I can't believe it, who would want to hurt my dear Archibald?"

Angela laughs. "I did well academically and put in way too many hours in after-school clubs, so I'm not worried. My parents will call me."

As if on command a phone rings in the distance. It sets off a chain of motion and every few minutes after that another student's phone goes off. More career letter results and many groans or squeals of joy.

One poor girl runs out towards the bathroom after a lengthy call, sobbing, as a string of her friends follow her.

"She probably just found out she's going to be a lumberjack or something stupid," Jessica comments snidely. "The girl's as dumb as bricks but have you seen her shoulders? Built like an ox. Definitely a lumberjack or a professional wrestler."

"Don't be so catty," Angela chides. "Knowing your grades you'll be lucky to end up with a lumberjack's salary. Ten dollars says you'll be a maid or a janitor."

"Hey. What do you have against janitors? My dad's one." Mike's steely glare, along with Jessica's, cuts through whatever Angela was about to say. She flushes in embarrassment and mumbles a quick apology.

"Yeah, you better be sorry," Mike glares before turning to me. "We should go get a drink at the pub. Some greasy food to go with it while we wait for our results. What d'ya say?"

"What do you guys think?" I ask the two girls. "Hungry?"

"I could eat," Angela nods. "Not the bar, though. There's a new cafe that opened up nearby, I went there for last year's Hunt and it was fantastic."

"Any alcohol there?" Mike asks, sending me a quick wink. "I'm buying."

Jessica snorts and crosses her arms. "I don't want to go out. Let's just eat here at the cafeteria."

"I don't want to eat this crap food. I want to get a drink."

"That's too bad, you alcoholic, we're staying here. Besides, Bella's still only seventeen. No drinking for her for another few months."

Being born near the end of the year has its perks.

They argue over it for several whole minutes. Each second drags by slowly as Angela and I simply stand there watching in silence.

Suddenly Jessica stops shouting at him and grabs my arm harshly. Again. Ow! Her sharp fingernails dig into my upper arm until I can't contain the bird-like cry of pain.

"Wait, shut up! Here they come!" she squeals. Her eyes are alight with excitement as she points to a black van pulling up into the school's car park. "Look!"

The van is large and completely out of place here. Almost entirely too large to be driven on the streets it takes up the vast majority of the empty car spots and is covered in metal mesh and bars.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she continues to squeal. "Oh my god, I knew he was feral. This is amazing. I should be a detective. Forget Archibald, this is better than money! Everyone, FC is here!"

I don't hear her words. The pain of her grip fades instantly as pure fear replaces it. Adrenaline kicks in without warning when I read the side of the van.

FC.

Fera Control.

The crew of human soldiers responsible for rounding up or putting down the Homo feras — the people like me. The ones who can change forms at will; the ones everyone fears.

"Oh, no," I whisper. My mind goes blank. I don't know whether to run or fight or collapse in a heap. A literal deer stuck in the headlights.

The van's doors fly open with a loud bang and half a dozen armed soldiers in black emerge. They line up shoulder to shoulder and raise their rifles up high in my direction.

"Everybody freeze!"

They've finally come for me.