KILLIAN

"Look at them acting like cattle,” I mutter under my breath
as the five of us stand still, watching the scattering of prey
in a splash of chaos.
The air reeks of greed, fear, and potential crime. My demons’
favorite flavors.
The whole concept behind the club means fuck all to me.
Occasions like these are the only reason I even participate.
“Motherfucking salivating is the word you’re looking for, Kill.
I’m gonna break some bones and drag fuckers across the ground.
If anyone dares to stop me, they’ll meet the same fate.” Nikolai
clenches and unclenches his fist, unable to hide his excitement for
the hunt.
When we first discussed this initiation, I suggested this game.
After Jeremy put it to vote, there was a unanimous agreement
from the rest—my boring brother included.
Considering the bow and arrows strapped to his back, he
might not be as averted to violence as I previously thought. He
just prefers doing it in closed circles.
Like how we used to go hunt with Dad once upon a time.
“That rubber on the arrows, Gaz?” Nikolai pokes the tips. “This
probably won’t hurt as much. Pick something else.”
“It’ll do.” My brother does a whole body search of Nikolai.
“Where’s your weapon?”
He punches the air. “I prefer my fists.”
“You won’t be able to win with your fists.” Jeremy swings his
golf club, points at my baseball bat, and then at the chain White
Mask is holding. “We’ll be able to hunt more than you.”
“That’s what you think.” He grabs the railing, shoves his mask
against one of the cameras, and screams at the security who are
watching every nook and cranny of the property. “You better keep
the right count for each of us, motherfuckers, or I’ll skin your balls
for dinner.”
“Hannibal Lecter much?” Gareth deadpans.
Nikolai’s head swings in his direction. “You! Don’t even think
about intervening or playing the fucking pacifist tonight, cousin. I
mean it.”
Swinging the bat over my shoulder, I step in the direction of
the door.
“Where are you going?” Jeremy asks from behind me. “The
ten minutes aren’t up yet.”
I grin from beneath my mask but don’t look back. “Since when
do we play fair?”
His low chuckle and Nikolai’s shouts about needing to jump
down mix, then fade to nothingness.
My ears fill with the buzz of the hunt.
When I was young and Dad figured out he had a ‘defective’ on
his hands, he took me hunting, probably figuring out that it’d help
dull my urges.
He taught me how to stalk prey and focus my energy on
becoming a human hound. But over the years, the excitement of
hunting animals slowly withered and became dull.
It’s different with people, though.
Tonight is one of the few occasions where I don’t have to
repress my compulsions and can allow my cravings to break their
boundaries and roam loose.
Usually, monotonous emotions and an endless circle of
boredom trap me in their clutches. My demons will chant, twist,
and writhe, urging me to commit any fucked-up act just to drive it
all away.
Not today.
Today, they don’t have to scream or bang or flounder in
misery. Today, they have full control to act in their nature.
My nature.
The late afternoon stakes its claim on the premises. Due to the
disappearance of the sun behind a thick cloud, the forest has
turned a dark green and my favorite smell taints the air.
Fear.
Despite the ‘game’ nature of this hunt, the prey is well aware
of being hunted down by predators. Their pores are open,
overflowing with sweat, adrenaline, and pure uncut terror.
I stand in the middle of the front yard, close my eyes, and
inhale the smell deep into my lungs.
An inexplicable intoxication seethes in my veins at being able
to taste fear, knowing I’m the reason it’s there in the first place.
These occasional doses of depravity allow me to have enough
balance to blend into society without turning serial killer on them.
I stop myself from killing by hunting and planning for hunting.
Or lately, by the promise of owning a certain girl.
My muscles tighten, and a blasphemous thought slowly forms
in my brain. Like maybe I should sneak into Glyndon’s room
instead of hunting wannabes.
No.
I waited months for today and I’m simply not allowing
distractions to sway me.
Letting my gaze fall on the dirt path, I head north and smirk
when I find countless shoe marks in the dirt, leading to the forest
surrounding the property.
People are biologically designed to follow the direction of their
internal compass—north. Those who choose differently either
have skewed direction sense or just go against the flow to feel
smart.
“Numbers seventy-four and eighteen eliminated.” The speaker
goes off in the distance.
Hmm.
Looks like the others have already started.
That doesn’t affect me one bit. Winning is only a bonus—not
the actual purpose. Hunting is.
I take my time following a group of people who thought
forming a tribe was a good idea.
Tracking steps has come naturally to me ever since I started
hunting as a kid. The key is to seek the most vulnerable prey. The
ones whose shoes make the deepest holes in the ground, because
they’re so scared, they put all their weight into escaping.
I run in the direction they took, my breathing regulated—
normal—as if I’m not physically exerting myself. A rustle comes
from the tree ahead and I swing my bat and hit.
A masculine wail comes first before a body falls with a thud,
clutching his shoulder. The crunching sound that echoes in the air
causes my blood to boil and the level of endorphins to mount
inside me.
He continues crying like a little bitch and I merely step on him
as I continue my run.
“Number fifty-one eliminated,” comes from the speaker.
I slow down when I reach a clearing that’s mostly exempt
from trees and let my bat dig into the ground as I tilt my head to
the side.
The steps go in circles, then explode in different directions.
Wait.
No.
It’s a camouflage. Judging by the exaggerated footsteps, they
knew some of us could track them so they created an illusion to
make me believe they went everywhere.
Oh, they’re good. They must’ve been in other initiations
before.
Judging by the number of steps that are half-covered, instead
of forward, they should be—
A thump echoes in my ear and it’s then I feel the scorching
pain ringing in my skull. A warm liquid trails down my forehead
underneath the mask, turns my vision red, then slides down my
chin and drips onto the ground.
I slowly turn around and face the group of five white-masked
students. One of them holds the rock he hit me with, breathing as
harshly as a pig being led to slaughter.
“Good one.” I grin beneath my mask, and even though they
can’t see how unhinged I am, they must hear it in my voice.
I lift my bat and they all flinch backward, but I use it to tap
the back of my head. “You should’ve hit here and with more force
so you could get at least a seventy percent chance of knocking
me out. Oh, and your hand is shaking. Unless you steady it, you
won’t be able to land a successful blow.”
Mask twelve stares at his hand and I lift the bat and hit him in
the head, sending him flying sideways. “Like that.”
He’s out cold, and his friends all run forward, together, like a
fucking herd.
I swing the bat and aim at their legs, all at the same time, and
they fall into a heap on the ground.
One of them manages to escape, but instead of running, he
turns around and mutters, “I surrender! I surrender! You can just
tap me.”
“Why would I do that? You signed up for this, no? It’s your
duty to make it more entertaining.” I drag the bat on the ground,
letting him hear the crunching of wood against the tiny pebbles,
then when I’m in front of him, I hit him across the middle. “Boring
cunt.”
“Number eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen are
eliminated,” the speaker announces.
I stare at the gray sky and tsk. “Come on, give me an actual
challenge.”
Someone breezes past me and I throw the bat as if it’s an
arrow, whacking them from behind.
Seriously? I internally sigh, still staring at the sky. I said a
challenge, not a stray rabbit.
The one I hit doesn’t fall. I wait for the speaker to announce
their number, but nothing comes.
I stare at them again, only to see they used one of the other
unconscious bodies as a shield. The bat hit number fifteen and fell
to the ground.
The participant doesn’t look back as they continue running,
slowly disappearing into the trees.
I didn’t even get a good look at them.
Well, fuck me.
Here it is. A challenge.
I grab my bat from the ground and stare down in search of
their footsteps.
They’re…light. Barely there.
Either it’s a woman or a very slim man.
And it’s definitely someone who knows how to fucking run.
I crouch on my haunches to study the pattern of their shoes.
Nike running sneakers.
Well, well. Aren’t they too prepared for this?
Still, a slow grin stretches my lips as I stalk in the direction
they’ve taken. Then I break into a run, adrenaline tightening my
muscles. The promise of an actually delicious prey causes my
blood level to flatline.
My breathing comes in long intervals, in sync with my
regulated heartbeat.
People’s bodies and brains fly in chaotic patterns when they’re
excited. Their nervous activity will peak and their heartbeats
skyrocket.
Not me.
Excitement brings me a level of calm nothing else can
accomplish.
The closest thing I have to…peace.
It’s the exact same feeling I had when I cut open those mice
or when I went on my first hunt. Or when I started taking pictures
to document those moments of utter rapture.
Or when I have Glyndon completely at my mercy and she
doesn’t break eye contact.
It’s the sensation of not having to repress any part of my true
nature, of allowing it to run loose like all-encompassing smoke.
Once you see it, it’s too late.
A scream comes from behind me and another from the side,
mixing like a symphony of violence. The numbers of eliminations
mesh up together until they overlap.
The devil works fast, but Heathens work faster.
I don’t focus on their endeavors. Instead, I continue my
pursuit of the cunning thing who keeps running in zigzags in
between trees.
The more I chase them, the stronger my blood pumps and my
breathing regulates.
Just you wait until I catch you, I’ll have a field day with you.
A figure cuts in front of me and I come to an abrupt halt
despite my high speed so that I don’t crash into them.
Participant number eighty-nine screeches to a halt, too. A man
—judging from his figure. He remains rooted in place like a
statue, but he’s shaking uncontrollably.
Nikolai appears from behind, his neon yellow mask a bit
crooked, blood smeared over the stitched smiling lines and the X’s
at his eyes. Even his hands are all red, indicating all the fun he’s
had.
Eighty-nine stares behind him, and for a moment, he makes
the mistake of taking a step in my direction, probably thinking I’m
the lesser of two evils.
“Look, I caught a stray cat.” Nikolai tells me with a slight manic
edge. He’s definitely in the high mode right now. “He just
wouldn’t stop running, you know, and has a temper. Threw a
whole fucking branch at my face and nearly knocked me out.
Gotta love the motherfucking feisty ones. They’re so fun to break
into pieces.”
Tell me about it.
I slide my gaze over eighty-nine, then to his shoes. Not Nike.
He can’t be the one who escaped earlier.
And my job here is done.
I lift the bat to get him when he keeps approaching me, but
Nikolai practically jumps him from behind, locks him in a
chokehold, and drags him back into the darkness between the
trees.
Eighty-nine tries to struggle by elbowing and biting into
Nikolai’s arm. He’s a fighter, I’ll give him that, but he’s simply no
match for my cousin’s deranged strength.
Nikolai effortlessly drags him and eighty-nine’s legs leave a
long trail in the dirt and his screams are muffled by something
Nikolai’s done.
Shaking my head, I continue on my way in pursuit of my own
stray rabbit. I’m not two steps in when a swish breaks the silence.
I duck as an arrow hits a tree, right above me.
I whip my head to the side, but don’t see anything. When I
pull the arrow out, I see that it’s a real one, not the rubber ones
Gareth is using for the hunt.
Well, well. Looks like my older brother might be in the mood to
kill me.
That is, if he’s the one who shot this, which I doubt—he’s too
cowardly for such a daring move.
I break the broadhead off the arrow and slip it in my pocket to
investigate it later—that is, if whoever aimed this at me doesn’t
come back for a redo.
My steps are measured with the sole purpose of finding the
little rabbit. Murder attempts can wait.
Jeremy and I meet as we’re running in different directions and
we butcher about six participants combined.
Then I catch a glimpse of Gareth walking with one of the
participants, shooting anyone who crosses their path.
He doesn’t even attempt to eliminate that participant. If
anything, it’s like he’s…protecting them.
No, escorting them.
Hmm. I wonder who got my brother’s attention to that extent?
I shelf that for later and continue my hunt.
For some reason, I can feel the stray rabbit escaping in the
area parallel to me.
So I follow my instincts and go deeper into the forest. It’s a
more difficult path, but those who believe longer and safer is
better than shorter and dangerous would definitely come in this
direction.
I carefully follow the footsteps, my vision getting sharper with
every passing second.
My feet come to a slow halt between three trees. The
sneakers have made a circle here, but unlike those amateurs from
earlier, this one obviously doesn’t know I follow steps, so they
didn’t attempt to hide them.
On and on, they went in circles and then…
I stare at the path ahead. The most logical explanation is that
they jumped on the rock in front of me and chose the bushes.
I stride to that direction as I smirk, letting them believe I’ve
fallen for their trick.
It’s time to skin the rabbit alive.