Location: Earth
Date: Unknown (presumed after "Golden Age")
Sublect: Hunter, Female,
Time: Estimated at Dusk area
Lonely Bow
The Huntress stepped from the forest, surveying the open plain, then settling on the settlement firmly located in the center. The fort, if it could be called that, was surrounded by walls made of tin and scavenged metal. Razor wire, rusted, more a threat to the inhabitants than anything else, was located on various parts of the walls, with some defense positions marked around it. Striding forward, the Hunters ghost focused on the settlement, noting various groups of human hiding, but prepared to defend to the death. Striding forward, the Hunter was walking, but not too fast or two slow. Reaching the gate, she waited until the inhabitants slowly opened it.
Out strode a human, clearly old, and knew enough to keep his distance.
"You are a risen, correct?" Asked the old man, his two bodyguards clutching their antique M7 rifles close to their chest, clearly anticipating their death.
She sighed, knowing not to blame them, many "Risen" as people like her were called, were regarded as just as dangerous as the 6-Arms, but even more. Too many had died due to those who became warlords and waged their undead wars. She knew why they did though, that damn itch. The need to hold a gun and use it. To take another's life.
"Yes, but I am not here for anything you have. I'm here to protect you." She said as seductively as possible.
"What price? You all have a price, don't you?" He asked, his slumped shoulders and tired eyes revealed his need for help, but he was scared.
"No price, no games. Three days from now a ship will come to lift you out of here." At this point, many people were starting to crowd, sensing danger, yet curious.
"But…..you will just take us to a warlord, won't you?
"Do I look like I serve a warlord?" She asked, knowing the old man could sense the answer.
His eyes flickered, clearly entranced by the idea, but his people had fought and died to carve this part of a forest. Finally, after long moments of silence, he had a deal. One which she knew he would say.
"There...is a 6-Arms tribe in the mountains, one which has been stealing our food and supplies. Kill them. Kill them all, and we will go then!" At this, the people started nodding, jubilant at the idea of no more death and struggling day by day to live.
But she knew. Knew that they would never know what would happen. Agreeing, she left, leaving her light to talk and tell them about it. The Last City.
She stalked through the brush, her bow ready at a moment's notice. Her helmet would mark where her enemies were, and she would kill them or let them live depending on her fancy. Seeing a Thrall walk by as she crouched in the brush, she looked for any others, then sled in and slit his throat with a knife. It squirmed, struggling, then let go in defeat. She moved it's body to another location, cleaned her knife, and continued.
As she stalked, one felled by an arrow, another by a blade, she found herself wondering why. She wasn't like other Guardians. She didn't want new weapons or brag about the hundreds killed, she just wanted to survive. To do some good here and there. To make a difference. Then again, in this crazy world, the difference between sane and craziness is a trigger.