Okaaaaay and fellas we are back in business! I'm so sorry about that, I know I gave the heads up but still it has been a while, I've been under terrible pressure from school (Which has finished now, if you want PM me your High 5s), had personal issues, and then it's looked up over Christmas and I finally got to spend a week with the love of my life who ya might have met before, that's right it's my lovely coauthor Chu10, she might've PMed review responses. Anyway onto story business now, thank you all for the positive feedback. Would love it along with constructive criticism if you have it, to continue. I'm sorry if I haven't replied reviews to last chapter months ago, I'll start doing that from now onwards.

Cheers: JJZ-109

CHAPTER 2. MEET MICHAEL 'MICK' HUNTER

Once a jolly swagman, camped down by a billabong

Under the shade of a coolibah tree!

And he sang as he watched, and waited till his billy boiled

You'll come a Waltzin' Matilda with me.

Banjo Patterson, 1895

The damned song wouldn't stop looping in Charlie's mind. On the bus ride before her world imploded, that was all that was being sung over, and over again. Courtesy of her brother Hayden of course, always needing to be the one to lighten things up. He'd sung it so many times, some just to annoy her on the ride, that it felt like it had been permanently burned into her skull.

However like Hayden's irritating voice cheering her from the stuffy insides of the old bus, this seemed to flush her pain. She was barely even conscious, and had completely forgotten where she was; all she knew was that it had been horrible, what led her there. The song was her only method of keeping that red-coated monster out of her mind. Even in the floating semi-conscious state of mind she lay dormant in, everything still throbbed.

Her arm, oh fuck her arm. Something was wrong with it, for sure. The pain, if not her inability to move any part of her body, rendered it completely useless.

And her head, she didn't want to even start thinking about it. How many times had she been struck there? Charlie had never been struck before in her life, bar some minor disciplinary slaps as a child. The red-coated monster, whatever his name was, had humbled her. For the first time in her sheltered, cozy life she tasted blood and fuck it was horrible, it tasted like how rusty coins smelt. And her entire face ached to move in the slightest, hence her lack of tears. If she cried it would hurt like hell.

The lyrics kept repeating to her as her body limply lay aching. It was like throwing a Band-Aid over bullet wound, but it was all she had as she floated through the sizzling northwestern expanse.

Slowly, her floating seemed to come to a stop. There was loud metallic groaning and screeching as she felt her progress begin to slow. Wait, progress? That's right, she was on a train covered in dirt. Now she started to remember it a little more than before, there was a car chase - or something, a cliff, and then she jumped away. As much as she tried to remember exactly what unfolded her mind simply refused to work properly, instead of thinking ahead it lingered on the fringes of consciousness simply replaying the lyrics to the song, or worse yet the red coated monster.

Once a jolly swagman...

The man stood above her in the darkness, arms folded. Her entire world was pitch black except for him, as if he was the only occupant of some kind of void set up to torment her. Worse yet, she was entirely limp, unable to move as he dragged her up to his eye level by her collar like a rag doll.

"You're different, I know you are. I can see it in those emerald eyes...I can feel it. You are special..." His words exited his mouth like toxins, hissing through the tiny gap of space between them.

All she could see of him now was the reflection of her own eyes in his sunglasses. Finally, she summed up the energy to move some part of her body: her mouth.

"Go Away!" She shrieked at his figure, depleting her energy reserves yet again.

"DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU?" The words powered out of his mouth yet again, thundering and echoing like lightning in a canyon.

"I don't want anything to do with you..." Charlie whimpered to him, feeling herself fall to the ground limply again.

Commandingly, he knelt at her side.

"You might not consider me worthy of your beastly pathetic respect but trust me my dear, I am," His lips slowly curled into a smile.

"You are mine, now." The smile grew to include his teeth.

"NO!" Charlie all of a sudden felt herself ignore the depletion of energy that plagued her body. Some new kind of force was powering her.

With everything she had, she lashed out at his striking apparition.

But then, it vanished. The empty void. The red coated monster. Everything. She couldn't see a damn thing.

Oh fuck no I'm blind! Charlie panicked and flailed her arms out maniacally, before the throbbing pain halted her abruptly.

"Whoa!" Suddenly, she felt herself being forced back down onto the floor by human hands.

"Get away from me!" She wheezed and tried to force her way back up, but rather effortlessly she was forced back down flat onto the floor. Wait, floor?

Blinking her eyes open and closed rapidly her vision slowly returned to her one pixel at a time, one division of her vision to the next, narrowing the number of everything she saw before her down to the point where she could finally recognize the dark silhouette of a man. And then something black in the center of her vision. Despite the throbbing protest of her head she narrowed her eyes and could finally see somewhat normally. That black thing was a gun barrel, pointed right at her forehead. "If I were you, I'd settle down." A raspy, gruff voice recommended, before she was suddenly shoved back down flat again.

"Oh Jesus why...why..." Tears finally began to well again in her eyes.

NO. Not this again. She had escaped once, she could do it again. Maybe. She began to not care if she died anymore. Gingerly stretching, she tried to lurch up again - hoping to either make a break for it or get shot in the process.

Pointless. The rough hand slammed her back down again painfully.

"Not. Fuckin'. Likely." The voice growled at her.

"Why? Why...what the fuck do you people want...get away from me!" Charlie snapped and squirmed under his grip, to no avail.

"I'd watch what ya order me to do, missy. Without me you'd be in a mineral cart halfway to fuckin' China by now. Dead in simple English." The man's deep and gruff voice was heavily accented. Australian accented.

"Huh?" Charlie finally got the chance to look up at him in confusion.

The man was old, perhaps in mid sixties, judging by the wrinkles on his face. He had short grey hair, a square jawline studded with short stubble, and lightly tanned skin that appeared to have seen a lot of sun. She tried to make eye contact with him, but his eyes were concealed under the brim of a hat.

"Who're you..." Charlie groaned, drowsily looking him over.

"I think I'll be the one that asks the questions, ay?" The man gestured to the gun pointed at her and waved it casually.

Gulping, she nodded grimly.

"Okay what do you want?" The question was met with a growl from the man before her.

"I thought we just agreed who'd be asking the questions." He snarled back at her roughly.

She nodded clumsily and tried to sit up casually to face him, but as she pushed down on the floor her arm throbbed in protest. The pressure made it feel like it was on fire. So badly that she needed to collapse back on the floor.

"Oh my god ow ow..." Charlie whimpered like an injured puppy.

"That's a fractured forearm there girl. I'd give it some time. You won't be going very far like that," The man informed her and gently folded the arm across her front, before pulling her up to sit.

It was then Charlie realized her arm had been fully bandaged and slung.

Where am I? She thought and looked around her. It appeared to be some kind of tent, with orange light gently flowing through the gaps between the ground and the entrance behind the man before her.

"You help me, I'll fix it for ya. Now, you can start by telling me your name." The man eased his grip on the gun pointed at her and even lowered it slightly. Charlie was too busy looking at her arm worriedly to even see this.

"Hey don't look at it..." The man forcefully turned her chin away from her bloody bandaged arm.

"Now, your name."

"I'm Charlotte, Charlotte Black..." Charlie introduced herself, studying the man, who nodded slightly.

"But everyone calls me Charlie." It was there the man paused, and his head snapped up.

His eyes were open wide, almost in some kind of induced horror. He breathed heavily for a moment, before shaking his head and snapping out of it.

"What's wrong with 'Charlie'?" She inquired curiously.

"Nothing. Never mind." The old man growled and pulled his hat brim back over his eyes.

Charlie then recognized the hat, it was a brown felt slouch hat, with the iconic rising sun golden badge on the left hand side where the brim was folded up. He was Army. Well maybe used to be at least, the strap, and tan cloth wrapped around the headpiece had obviously been removed and on top of that the hat seemed damned old.

She interrupted the awkward silence between them.

"Can I go to a hospital, mate?" She requested, and to her dismay he just chuckled in reply.

"There ain't any hospitals out here, Charlotte. And by the way we're not quite through."

"Ugh why..." Charlie groaned, annoyed.

Then it hit her. Where was everyone else? Where was her brother? Where was Tristan? She suddenly became sick with worry. She hadn't seen them since before she'd woken up in that monster's shack. Had he shot them too?

"Shit...Hayden...Tristan..." She thought aloud, her eyes lighting up in fear as she did so.

"Uh huh...must be mates of yours?" The man looked her over.

"Fuck where are they?" She gasped at the stranger in front of her.

"I don't even know who they are Charlotte, and I thought I was the one ask-"

"Fuck fuck we have to call the cops! It's my brother and friend!" Charlie panicked and breathed heavily, despite it hurting her.

Suddenly, the old man burst out laughing. He leant back and shut his eyes tight, cackling at her comment

"HAH cops! HAHAHA!"

"Hey it's not funny! They could be dead or that Brit could have them or -" Charlie's laments were interrupted sharply as the man composed himself.

"What, and you think calling the cops will help or even work? HAHA!" The man had to really restrain himself from bursting into laughter. "Fuck especially from Red..."

Charlie's frantic attempts to search her pocket for her phone were suddenly halted. "Wait, who?"

"Oh, the bloke that probably has the phone you're so desperately looking for. Which you don't have by the way, I searched you when I found you and you had nothing on ya."

"Who?" Charlie could feel the monster's voice begin to echo in her head again.

"Let me guess, you had a run in with a big pom?" The man folded his arms. "And he wasn't just a pom, but the one that's British to a stupid extent."

"Yes..." Charlie nodded.

"And he dressed strangely, right?"

"Yes! Oh my god he looked like he was out of some American war film, you know, with the red coat, that hat, and -" Charlie ranted on but was cut off.

"I know what he looks like." The old man said coldly, making Charlie look down a little. "I know who he is, and in case you're worried, nah I don't have any affiliation with him."

Charlie breathed out a slight sigh of relief. At least this guy wasn't one of them too, even though he was armed and looked quite intimidating despite his age. His thick Australian accent kind of indicated that to her from the start.

"You'll be safe here for the time being,"

"Safe? Mate get me a phone!" Charlie snapped at him abruptly.

"Who would ya call anyway? The cops?" The old man raised his voice, making her shrink down again a little.

"Why not..." Charlie murmured, a little uneasy.

"No point. There's no phone connections to the outside here, well available to us at least." Charlie felt her heart sink at this statement.

"So we're trapped here?" She asked the question that had started to worry her more and more.

"Not really, there's ways out. None of them particularly easy, though." The man informed her, sitting back himself now, leaning on a stool.

Charlie leant forward and looked into his eyes, sincerely.

"Can you help me...please..." She pleaded with him.

"I think I've helped you enough. By the way I lied before, your arm is fixed. Just stay off it for a bit and use some morphine and you'll be alright." The old man sighed and got to his feet.

"Please! I need to find my brother Hayden..." Charlie pleaded with him, tears welling in her eyes again.

"Wait, Hayden Black?" The man turned back around to face her momentarily.

"Yes?"

"As in the football player?"

"...yes?" Charlie tilted her head curiously.

"Huh. Well fuck, I s'pose I should probably help ya out then. I'm a Fremantle fan, you know."

Charlie sighed out in relief loudly.

"Can't let a player die before he's even played a league game..." The man continued, stroking his chin.

"Ugh don't say it like that!" Charlie snapped at him angrily.

"Why not? It's true. If I wasn't a Freo fan I wouldn't give a second fuck about you or your brother," Charlie felt herself shrink back down sorrowfully at the comment.

"Thanks...I guess." She mumbled quietly and looked down.

The man turned back towards the door again, and Charlie could now examine him fully. He was old, but still apparently very strong, with well defined muscle along his exposed arms. Attached to his hip was an intricate looking sheath, made from what looked like crocodile skin. Inside looked to be a huge knife, with the wood and brass handle protruding from the top, running along his old worn out brown sleeveless shirt and down his jeans.

"Just in case..." The old man detached the large sheath from his belt.

"Take this, technically this is a safe zone but still you should be careful. Also I don't trust you with a gun." He tossed her the brown leather sheath and it plodded down in her lap rather painfully. It was a lot heavier than what she expected it to be.

"Try not to lose it or fuck it up. It's worth a lot to me." The man instructed her and crouched through the entrance of the large canvas tent.

"Okay I won't..." Charlie agreed compliantly.

As he began to leave, she finally summed up the heart to ask him:

"What do I call you...?"

The old man gave a half chuckle and looked back over his shoulder as he left.

"Name's Michael Hunter. But you should call me Mick."

…camped down by a billabong, under the shade of a coolabah tree!

New Handbook Entry:

Name: Michael 'Mick' Hunter

Gender: Male

Height: 190cm

Weight: 88kg

Date of Birth: ?/?/1949

Place of Birth: Melbourne, Australia

Hair Color: Grey

Very little known about Mick Hunter. Skill and techniques used in noted combat suggest previous military experience, but no records turn up. Apparently lived in the Kunarra region for a matter of decades. Grumpy old man with a bad attitude. Provoked with a bullet, tamed by a beer.

So how was that? Return to form or nah? By the way just in case, lemme make an Australian slang Thesaurus: Pom = Someone English. Freo = Shortening of 'Fremantle' an Australian football team. Ya = You.

Anyway hope you guys enjoyed, namely the villain's pieces and also I hope you can see the role the song is playing. Anyway if you have any questions or comments that you don't wanna put in a review feel free to PM me or Chu10.

This has been JJZ-109, and as always...Have a nice day.