The Hunter Wakes

It was warm. The cold that had been keeping him from waking was gone. He shifted, hoping to see someone standing there, telling him he didn't have to be frozen anymore. He was alittle disappointed, but then there was a sense of Freedom. He got up, straightening his cloth poncho, and sniffed the air. Death and dust. There were several heartbeats sounding, and he absently glanced at where there shouldn't have been a heartbeat. A young woman lay there, clearly the one that had woken him up. Two others retained their sleep, though she must've freed them as well. He glanced back at the former entrance, at the destruction, and nodded absently. There were no scents he could follow, all were so old, there were barely anything concrete other than a brief 'someone lost control of their bowels right before they died'.

He had no one to hunt, so he sat down studying the brown haired woman. She was hurt, possibly from whatever the blast was, but also potentially due to the reason she was frozen to begin with. He'd never met her before, but she was probably not prey. He was a Hunter, he knew what those weak smelled like, this one was hardly that, but she wouldn't survive on her own. But perhaps she knew more . . .

Or perhaps he should just cull the injured one so those fit to move would not be hampered by her weakness. He'd wait for the others to give their input. Or he could go hunt those who had abandoned the lab.

Eventually, he decided to wait, sitting perfectly still, not a bit bothered by the cold that still lingered in the tomb.