The air was cool and still. The city, usually abuzz with life and noise, was eerily quiet. The moonless autumn night washed over the city like a dark ocean only being illuminated by the occupied building with their night owl occupants. The sources of light resembling closely clustered star against an ever-consuming black backdrop. The occupants of the city were sheltering in place; not because of severe weather or a pandemic, but because something was lurking in the shadows. Something extremely hazardous to anyone that may come in contact with: a hunter was on the loose. The creature stalked through the streets and alleyways looking for its next meal. Anything small enough or weak enough will do for its needed substance. With a turn into a dead-end alleyway, it spots its target, a fluffy mare with her brood. She is singing off tune to them while they are swapped for their turn for their motherâs nutritious, lifegiving milk. The hunter knowing all to well of its prey since it too was a fluffy. As the hunter sneaks up on its prey, it quickly changes stances from a stalking cat to a wondering, lost, fluffy looking for its way. The mare notices the new guest after closing the distance quite quickly from a block to a few feet away.
âHewwo! New fwiend? Mammah feed babbehs wite now so nu can pway,â the mare obliviously narrates to the one that seeks her demise.
The hunter remains silent knowing full well that she is in its control. The hunter takes stock in his meal: one undernourished yellow mare, four chirpie babbehs; one blue unicorn, one red earthie, and two yellow ones: one unicorn, one earthie. The hunter tilts its head in a mimicry of curiosity rather than aggression; no need to scary mammah away. She is the main course after all. It noticed one of the babbehs, the blue one that it presumed has been fed based on its aimless wandering and its fat belly, had wriggled its way to the hunter giving it as big of a hug as it could around the hunterâs left foreleg. The hunter smiled at its snack, and with a blindingly swift motion snatched the foal up and ate him in a matter of seconds, not even giving the foal a chance to peep in distress. Nothing but a small patch of fluff and a few drops of bloods are all the reminder that was the blue child. The mare, either too tired or too preoccupied with the others, did not notice the action taken by the hunter and is now anxiously looking aimlessly for her blue child.
âWewe am bwoo babbeh go? Am make hiddies from mammeh? Come back bwoo babbeh, nu wike dis gamies. Huuhuuhuuu.â
The mother now starting to panic was looking under some of the rags she used as bedding, around her cardboard box home, and even under one of her yellow offspring; checking to see if it was using its brood mate as a hiding spot.
The hunter spoke at last, âknow wewe bwoo babbeh is. Bwoo babbeh hiddies ovew dere, behind cannie nummies,â pointing to a knocked over can of soda a few feet way from them near a dumpster.
The hunter smiled and simply watched as the mare run over to the tipped over soda can trying to save her wandering child. As she was halfway over to the can, the hunter struck once again finishing off the broad of remaining chirpies leaving almost nothing but a patch of skin and fluff, a few bones, and a few drops of blood. Now full from its clever lie and its snack, the hunter moves behind the mare, covering three times the distance than she could in less than half the time. The mare didnât even notice until it was too late. The hunter pounced on her full force, tearing a large section of her back off exposing both bone and organs alike. The mare produced an ear shattering scream,
âSCREEEEEEEEE!!! WHY HUWT MAMMEH!!! MUST SABE BABBEHS!!!â
The hunter was about to go for the kill when a metallic ball raced into its vision. The hunter was distracted from its target to look at the new intruder which became the hunters undoing. Within a split second the ball exploded into a blinding bright flash with a loud percussive noise. Racing away from its prey and into a wall holding its eyes with its from hooves, the hunter was blinded and disoriented trying to regain its composure and see who threw that metallic ball. After a few seconds, the hunter regained its composure but with a very audible ringing in its ears. Agony turned to anger until it saw what had deployed that ball.
A creature three times bigger than the hunter was standing in front of the hunter. At first the hunter saw it as a medium sized dog, but upon closer inspection, the hunterâs boiling anger was quickly doused with its blood running cold as ice in fear. The creature before it was no dog, but a stalker. A massive behemoth that barely resembled the fluffies that it was based on. His large muscular structure of quickly chasing down and dispatching targets. A horn that came to a very sharp point for impaling and stabbing its victims, with wing so massive it assisted in helping him leap into the air, and even allowed him to glide a little. A black harness envelope its body only exposing its wings, legs, and head. The stalker lowered its head to the petrified hunter, exposing its dagger like teeth to the hunter eliciting a small peep in fear. The hunter tried to run from the stalker, now knowing that the tables have turned against it, but in its adrenaline racing fear it ran right back into the dead-end of the alleyway; now trapped with its predator, but the stalker didnât move. Heart racing, the hunter tried to scan the area for any way to escape its otherwise inevitable end. The hunter noticed something that it didnât notice before in its tunnel vision. A floating green color light that lingered behind the stalker. Squinting, the hunter tried to see what it was but could only see it sway ever so slightly. Before it could process what it was seeing, the hunters head exploded into tiny pieces with parts of its brain splattering the wall behind it. The hunterâs body slumped as a pool of blood formed around the chars of flesh that once was its head.
The green light came out of the shadows like being summoned into form. It was a man around six feet, in all black tactical outfit step next to the stalker. His uniform matching that of a PMC or SWAT in looks, but the side of his uniform gave away what organization he belonged to: IRATE Division was the logo patched on the right side of his arm. Lowering his still smoking assault rifle and the lower part of his mask, he surveyed the area for anymore hostiles; however, he was met with the carnage of the hunterâs exploits, or more precisely, what was left of it.
âStryker, would like to call this in? Iâll take care of clear up and dispose of anything left over,â the man said with a sigh looking at the stalker for confirmation.
âSure. I can call it in. Iâll head back to the truck to radio this in,â responded Stryker. The stalker started to leave the alleyway when he noticed the still breathing fluffy, wheezing from the excruciating pain of her exposed innards, âWhat about this? You plan on keeping it alive, or are you going to dispatch this?â
The man turned to look at the dying fluffy, âIâll take care of her last. I have to bag up this hunterâs body first. Canât have the rats eat them until we find out where it came from.â
âRoger that. Iâm headed back to the truck to confirm our kill. See you in a bit.â And with that, the stalker left to fulfill his part of the deal.
An easy objective for him since he canât pick up the specimen without doing more damage or contaminating it by using his mouth. He loaded the corpse into a biohazard bag, trying to preserve as much blood as possible, or what was left anyway, and made his way towards the mare. The mare, despite having a quarter of her back ripped wide open, was still breathing if only a heavy labored wheezing. The man lifted the mareâs head gingerly to pet and stroker her mane to bring her a modicum of comfort in her dying breaths.
âPweezâŚâŚwheezeâŚsabeâŚâŚwheezeâŚâŚbabbehsâŚ.wheeze,â the mare rasped trying in her remaining breath to save the only extension of herself that was left unaware of their extermination by the corpse now hanging from the manâs belt loop in a plastic bag.
âIâm sorry,â was all the man said to the mare.
Then with a firm grasp and a swift, fluid motion, the man snapped the neck of the mare, ending her suffering within the blink of an eye. No more pain, no more worry, she was off the skettiland to be with her brood. The man stood up from his mercy kill and made his way back to the truck.
Once to the back of the truck the man took off his night vision goggles and mask to expose his shoulder length, chestnut colored hair and scruffy 5 oâclock shadow on his face. Running both hands through his hair to part it out of his face, the man let out a long sigh. Checking his watch, it was past 3 oâclock in the morning, yet another long day, but he really didnât mind it tonight. The air was cool and crisp, quite refreshing on his sweat-damp skin. He unloaded his assault rifle first to clear some weight from him. The mag was loaded almost to full capacity, minus the one shot he had fired. The .556 bullets had their tips dipped in orange paint to help identify what ammunition was being used. He opened a box locked into place on his truck marked EXPLOSIVE, and after topping off the magazine, found an empty slot to place it in very carefully. Next, he removed his thick vest. The vest was too heavy to be just a regular bulletproof vest. The plates in the vest were not just made with Kevlar and ballistic weave, but it also had few millimeters of steel, and a few more of ceramics. The vest made the wearer a freaking tank along with the weight of one too. Last, he deposited the hunterâs corpse into a small freezer unit to maintain the integrity of the evidence to do further study on by the egg heads doing their thing behind the scenes. The three important âlock upâ items were now secure, the man closed the back and locked it with a biometric lock. He moved to the front and was about to get in when he felt something pat his leg. The man looked down and was a neon pink fluffy with a flashy orange mane and tail. The creature was dirty from head to tail with the usual fluffy nonsense: shit, piss, and dirt. The fluffy sat up on its haunches looking up at the man putting its front hooves together like it was either praying or pleading with the man to take it home with him.
âPweez. Pweez take fwuffy wiff yu. Nu wan be awone. Nu wan be in dummeh hewd. Just wan nice mistah an warm housie. Nu wan anyfing ewse,â the pitiful creature whimpered as if trying to appeal to his kindness.
The man wasnât moved by the false sale pitch of the fluffy, but the fluffyâs colors were something of interest. The man bent down and picked up with both hands as not to elicit the default âbad upsiesâ from the fluffy. He noticed that the fluffy was a mare which is always his standard guess since they all sound alike. He opened the back of his truck after tucking her into his arm which she promptly hugged smearing the filth she had on his uniform. He was unfazed by this since it was par for the course, and he was already dirty from tracking of the hunter. In the back of his truck there were rows of cages stack on top of each other. He opened the first cage which was empty to deposit the mare into. Once deposited, she whimpered about being a good fluffy and why she was in the sorry box. The man had little patience to give to the now distressed fluffy about why it was necessary for her to be in there. The night was long enough as is. The man closed the back of the truck and slipped into the driverâs seat only to be meet with judging eyes of Stryker.
âKill two fluffies, but save this one? Arenât you being a softie tonight,â Stryker said in a teasing tone, âI would only guess you would have gone hugboxer on us. Be a shame if the guys from the office hears about your bleeding heart.â He chuckles to himself aloud to indicate he was kidding.
âI wonder how they would feel about you playing with the target instead of dispatching it like you were supposed to,â the man quipped back at him. Both shared a laugh as they headed off into the night.
âI called it in, and the lockdown is now lifted for the city, so itâs all hunky dory now. How about we just go home and deliver our prize to the egg heads in the morning? Iâm beat as is,â Stryker offered through a very audible yawn.
âYeah. I think that is a good idea since itâs even too late for those pencil pushers. Once we get home, Iâll feed both of us, and we can go to sleep afterwards. How does that sound,â the man adding to the offer with a yawn of his own.
âWhat are you going to make for us then, hm?â
âYour favorite of course. It is morning time after all,â the man tempted Stryker with one of his ultimate food weaknesses.
âAre you serious? You really going to make waffles!?!â Stryker, now revitalized by the mention his favorite breakfast item, starts rocking back and forth in his seat.
âYup. Nothing like homemade waffles with chocolate chips to start, or end the day with,â the man now given more energy just by the mention of his favorite food too, starts to get antsy at the idea.
âYou are the best, dad!â Stryker bellows out. âI FREAKING LOVE WAFFLES!!!â
âGeez, Stryker, calm down. You almost made me drive off into a ditch,â the man says half joking as he was caught off guard by Strykerâs sudden outburst.
âhuuhuuuuu. Scawy noisy. Nu wike,â came the cries and pleas from the fluffy in the back which evokes heavy laughter from the front row, all the way home.