A Hunt of the Past
~ATTRAIT~
** The paved road narrowed. Two lanes winded dangerously close to
one another up the Montana countryside. The destination was not
the town of Dalesville, but instead the wilderness beyond. Jean
had not been out on an assigned field mission for as long as his
memory could stretch, though there had been many. His eyes were
like flecks of mirror reflecting the gray in the sky. They darted
to a sign as it passed. “Dalesville pop. 724”. Ian
would be MUCH MORE at home here than he. The truck slowed as
Dalesville’s main street appeared. This town had nothing to
boast of, it was as long as it was wide with one Main Street
curving through the middle of it. It was obvious that the whole
town was built around the logging industry, as a mill loomed in
the distance. The truck slowed to a stop at the only store for
miles. The store was one time forgot. From the outside one could
tell that it carried everything a person would need, from
pharmaceuticals and guns, to groceries and motor oil. Jean took a
long look at the store, before sliding out of the vehicle. His
stature was tall, lean and built. His hair stark white betraying
his age. The only reason one might mistake him for his actual age
was because of that white hair he had since his early twenties.
The rest of him hadn’t seemed to change that much. And
although he sported blue jeans, leather boots, a plaid shirt, and
even a silver belt buckle, he wore these items better than most
men wore tuxedos. Nodding once at his companion in the truck
before approaching the store with a slight jog in his step. He
didn’t loathe places like this, but Jean belonged in the
French Embassy rubbing elbows with diplomats, not bargaining with
a toothless smuck about camping equipment. The door to the store
gave way with a gentle push, a small silver bell suspended above
it announcing his entrance. ** Can I help you? ** A tense voice
called out from behind the counter. It wasn’t too often that
strangers wandered into this store. But after taking a long look
at the man, the tension fled the old man. Jean offered a
half-hearted smile before walking over to him. Reminding himself
not to obtain perfect posture, but to slouch, not to walk with an
authoritative air, but instead just like the naturals that
inhabited this forgotten place. He also made sure his language
would match. The French accent was dropped to an American one. He
was flawless in his English, and forcing those flaws was actually
a bit irritating. ** Why yes, you can help me. See I am up
hunting some big game here in the Greendale Woods. We decided to
stay for a few nights instead of driving back. I hears there is
good game up there, and we need some good equipment at the last
minute, so could you show me some good things? ** The older man
rose a brow and again grew more tense. He showed Jean the
equipment, sleeping gear, food, water, toiletries that would all
fit on your back for under 40 pounds, for under fifty bucks. The
man grew more tense as he noted Jean was serious about camping in
the Greendale Woods. ** Yeah there is great game up there, but if
I’s was you, which I’m not, but if I’s was I
wouldn’t be camping up in the Whispering Woods. ** This
caught Jean’s interest. ** Whispering Woods? ** Jean leaned
forward on the counter as the old man, giving an opportunity for
the man to continue. ** What we call them around here, Ya’
see, everyone around these parts knows those woods have a bad
spirit in them. The trees are almost alive, no one can cut the
lumber up there. People, whole teams have come back refusing to
return, some have not come back at all. ** Jean raised a brow. It
seemed that their little ‘druid’ was making quite a
name for himself up here. THIS was the verification he was
looking for, not the gear. This was worth the money GUARD was
spending in this store.** You don’t say, what you think it
is? Bears? Pumas maybe? ** The old man shook his head as he still
hesitated to ring the camping equipment up. The old man shifted
his weight back and forth. ** Now don’t think I’s gone
crazy, because these are just things I’s heard. But it’s
not bears. There is something not right in those woods. Something
that tears men apart, not just a man, but whole logging teams,
their equipment too. Its got control of the trees and tears
everything to shreds. The locals won’t touch the place, the
authorities think we’re all just a bunch of loons. ** Jean
was amused, but kept this well hidden. His brow creased as he
listened. Rubbing the back of his head as the man finished. **
Well what do YOU think it is? I mean has anyone seen ‘it’?
** Jean stood back up, still half leaning on the counter, paying
full attention. The old man lowered his voice. Jean, although he
didn’t have to lean in to hear him, forced himself to. **
From one woodsman to another, I’s think it’s demons.
Yes sir demons, because no one ever sees anything but the trees
sir, and they just tear everything apart like no tomorrow. That
and the trees groan, like men. They seem to talk, mutter, laugh,
that’s why they is called the Whispering Woods. ** Jean
pulled out the cash, making it evident that he was still going to
purchase the equipment that was on the counter. The old man began
to ring up the items on the counter with a relic of a cash
register. Jean also picked up some ‘clean’ clothes just
in case. He motioned for a pack of Lucky Strikes from behind the
man before saying. ** Well sir, I thanks ya for the tip. // Don’t
worry about us, we’ll drive right through those there woods
to find a better gaming spot. I would never go to a place like
that. // ** This voice causing the man to ease up visibly. The
man behind the counter actually smiled. ** Most people don’t
listen to tales like this, that I’s told ya. Its us old
timers that always know good advice when we’s hear it. **
Jean nodded in truthful agreement with that one. Taking then his
goods, with two trips back to the truck. The truck itself was as
older looking vehicle, the ‘camper shelf’ part of it
seemed to have been half-hazardly placed on with tinted windows
in the back. In the back, though was more technological equipment
than in any government surveillance vehicle. No bulky antennas
struck upwards from the back, no lights blinked suspiciously, no
indeed it was camouflaged beautifully. Jean waved to the man in
the store as the engine started up. Turning to his companion for
the first time for miles as the door closed. ** Did you get all
that Ian?
~OLD SCRATCH~
*Ian, lounging in the truck, snorts at his companion even as
exhales the smoke from his premium Cuban cigar. Ian, Filenamed:
Old Scratch. Some say he could hear a fly fart... he encourages
such ideas. Are they true? Perhaps... he'll never tell. But even
so and nevertheless, Ian heard what he needed to hear, whether it
was all or only in part* Looks like we're on the right trail,
Jean. And this RUNner is sure making a hell of a name for
himself; scaring the locals, too. Now this... /this/... is
exactly the reason they shouldn't be allowed to roam free. No
Free Range Unnaturals. Just isn't safe nor good for the poor
hapless natural suckers who have to deal with 'em. *Reiterating
old feelings.... and he does believe what he says. For the safety
of the general population, R.UN.ners were a hazard. That they are
also an embarassment to GEMlabs meant little to Scratch, who was
something of an embarassment himself. Or was. He seemed to have,
over the years, proved his worth. The gear in the back is
state-of-the-art for the time... surpassing what the military
utilizes, though the'd catch up soon enough. GEMlabs managed to
stay a few steps ahead, but it always found it's way to the
government... simply a matter of time, really... and in ten or
fifteen years, the general public would be able to own it, too.
By then, GEMlabs would have gone on to greater things, naturally.
It was a little edge the GUARD, child of GEMlabs, possessed and
it was hardly fair; telepaths stealing ideas from the dreams and
thoughts of the greatest engineers and designers on Earth,
setting their own specially talented people to the tasks of
creating these marvels, and doing it long before the men who
originally thought of the idea even figured out the specs. A
strange form of industrial espionage, but it worked well, without
the hassle of paying people off or obtaining patent rights. And
the originator still got to keep his own ideas and maybe make
money off them later. It's a little known fact that GEMlabs had
created, in the early 50's (and ten years after Scratch was born)
small little humanoid creatures called 'Drones'. They had little
to no personality of their own, were chimeras of a sort (This was
before cloning), did not speak but developed a primitive language
based solely on eye blinks, and were marvelously talented in all
things technical. Just as long as they could improve on an
existing design and not be held responsible to actually think it
up. No imaginations. Good little, well-mannered servants who did
exactly as they were told. Natural pilots too, for the most part,
with their keen vision and large, large black eyes, short slender
bodies which required little space, and their big heads, full of
brain matter, which acted somewhat like computers... before
computers were invented in the late 60's. Of course, nothing
manmade is infallible, including the Drones, and a couple had
crashed prototype aircraft. The most notable being in the
infamous Roswell area, where the military had secured the little
Drone bodies before GEMlabs, much smaller back then, had an
opportunity to reclaim them. This, of course, started a beautiful
coverup the GUARD and GEMlabs would uphold for decades upon
decades... aliens had landed. Human paranoia conspired in the
favor of GEMlabs, and all was right with the world. The
shadowy-skinned Drones were by now known the world-over as
"Grays", and the Genetic Mutation and Experiments
Laboratories would be lying if they said they didn't, every now
and then, whip up a few Drones, tell them to go kidnap someone,
take them for a spin in one of the strange aircraft, and bring
them back a few days later. These kinds of stories kept people
looking upwards, towards the stars, rather than straight head and
what lay right in front of their faces. As for the Rogue
Unnaturals, well... that little oopsie had only surfaced a year
or so ago and was growing fast (the lost file unnaturals
surfacing in large concentrations. To be fair, it had been going
on for about 3 years or so). The kids, and they were all young,
were even more powerful than GEMlabs expected. Flack jackets and
shotguns had proven pretty damn useless, and more than a few men
had been lost the year before when they tried to overtake the
R.UN.ners -as Rogue Unnaturals have come to be called- the year
before in Chicago, when a whole nest was discovered. Scratch and
Attrait were equipped with the next generation of defenses, and
this hunt was the perfect time to test them. Besides which, most
of the new Hunters coming in still had some training left before
they'd let into the field, and only a very few Unnaturals, most
about the age of 14, if that, had been brought in yet. The vast
majority of the ones raised by GUARD were still too young and
inexperienced to be trusted with a focused use of their talents.
There was a promising new generation of Hunter, enhanced with
cybernetics of some kind, but they were still rehabilitating.
They'd be ready soon, what few there were. One or two, with
excellent results, were released in the field, but the rest went
a bit slower. Another puff on the cigar and an expultion of
smoke. Scratch kicks his booted feet up on the dashboard, his
shoes worn and dusty, his trenchoat the same. The jeans were
faded in the knees and frayed at the pockets and hemlines. The
shirt a good 10 years old, faded dark flannel. He would fit right
into one of these little backwater towns, easily* Let's bring the
son of a bitch in, Jean.
** Looking towards the gray skies again Jean noted that it was becoming less visible as the trees neared. The sky was soon covered with a canopy of branches and leaves. There was no sign that said they were in Greendale Woods, but it was obvious. Doubting the Rogue would be here, no he would be further in. Deeper in the woods. Jean mused over something for a moment. A smile cracking over his face in the midst of the work. ** You’re talking as if you are trying to convince someone here that they are a danger to society. Even the incident with, . . . Contact was it? a little while back would convince anyone I would say.
** There was a point, where Attrait, as his code name was stated, thought UNnaturals could live in the world like people. This illusion was quickly shattered. Attrait was loyal to GUARD, a subsidiary of GEMlabs, which he was also loyal to. He had his own opinions that were locked deep in his mind. Though he would never betray either faction at this point. Instead saying lightly, in the spite of the seriousness.**
Notice every town and thing for the last 50 miles has had the name “Dale” in it? A founder of this area, or did you Americans run out of good names? ** The humor was to break the tension. This one would be slightly difficult. It was no surprise there, perhaps why they asked Ian and Jean to travel and to retrieve him. Together they were a lethal pair. Deadly wasn’t an eloquent enough word for how Jean moved, and brutal wasn’t a harsh enough word for Scratch’s sheer power. How they had come to know each other was a complicated thing. Needless to say a friendship, a deep bond grew. Deeper down he knew, the man beside him had proven his worth many times over as a friend, as a fighter. If this man were to ever desire to leave, and never resurface it was quite likely he could. And Jean wouldn’t stop him. **
*Again, a snort, this time something of a mirthless laugh as Scratch eyes the encroaching forest line, noting the canopy of leaves overhead. He frowns a moment, then stubs out his cigar and turns his face half-towards Jean* What a wildcat, that one. She really did a number on poor Johnson, didn't she? Stabbed him with the pencil she charged on the flight over then blew his arm clean off. I understand he's one of the first to get a cybernetic limb that's actually taken. Desk job, though. That shook him up pretty badly. I don't blame him. Try explaining that one to the wife and kiddies. Lil... Contact... was not easy to subdue. *He sighs then, looking back towards the darkening sky and narrows his eyes* Scuttlebutt has it she's going into covert ops training. Nice way of saying 'assassin'. She's just a /kid/, for crying out loud. *Contradictory, perhaps... a menace, but just a kid. Maybe Scratch holds to some youthful, optimistic ideal where Unnatural could all just live together in peace, a subspecies, and away from the natural world. But it wasn't going to work that way, and he knew it. A chuckle this time, and Ian flicks his glance at his friend, amusement dancing there brightly* Probably the name of some microbrewery's best beer. Dale beer. I'd name everything after beer. You'd probably name em all after wines, or somethin'. *A glint in his eyes, then he becomes serious again* We're gonna have to ditch this truck soon, and go in on foot. Find a good place to cover this thing, Jean.
Kid or not, when she can learn to actually harness that power, she will be essential. I suggest getting on her good side. ** Pulling the truck over to the side, town to a small clearing, not visible really from the main road. He turned the engine off then. If the trees ate logging equipment, they would tear through the truck like a child’s toy. And their plant friend would hear them coming. With the engine off he could hear the trees creaking. His ears were no where near the sensitivity of Ian’s but still better than a natural’s. Failing to hear the “Whispering” the local spoke of. They might have quite a trek ahead of them. His pulse quickened just by a beat as he sat there in the silence for a long while. Listening, waiting. For what he was unsure. Knowing it when he heard it. Stepping out of the truck closing it as quietly as he could. Not knowing if the trees could see for the UNnatural, hear for him, but they could fight for him, and talk for him it seemed. ** No you don’t understand. In France, our names are so lovely we name wines after them. Cover it? No, don’t get up, just finish your cigar, I’ll get it. Maybe we can ask our new friend to help us. **His voice light as he chuckled. . . He left the equipment he bought from the store in the truck instead moving to the back of the truck and opening the caper part. Unloading the field equipment they would need. Pulling on a dual holster and a long leather jacket. Looking down at it as it was lain on the ground hands on his hips. **What they should have equipped us with is a few weed whackers. Might be more effective. I am beginning to think they have a lot of faith in our abilities. ** They had a type of flame-thrower which would be too bulky and too noisy to carry, a communication device for reporting to GEMlabs, a few bullet proof jackets, which he was assured they wouldn’t need, along with other various things. While SWAT jackets and shotguns were no longer effective, they were still given two sets of .45s, a nine millimeter, and a few other guns of various sizes. Jean selected one set of .45 revolvers, making sure they were indeed loaded, and holstered them. Checking the pile for anything else. Smoke bombs, he grabbed a few of those, and placed them in his jacket pockets. ** After this, we should go for some coffee.** Closing the camper part of the truck and knelt starting to unfold a ‘shrub net’ to cover their vehicle. If it worked for the Army, it would suffice here for a few hours. **
*Ian grunts in agreement, something of a chuckle* hear ya. I'd hate to be a hit of hers when she fully comes into her powers. *Despite what Jean says, Ian snuffs out his cigar anyway... a smell like that could travel far and wide, easily noticeable in such a natural setting. His senses fully open, where he tries to mute them as much as he can normally, he, too, can smell the cigar smoke, thick and strong, clinging to his clothing and leather duster. Reaching into the glove compartment, Scratch pulls out an aerosol can of GUARD-issued 'scent be gone', a neutralizer which worked a million times better than "Lysol". He sprays this over himself and instantly has to adjust, wrinkling his nose, as everything on him becomes invisible to his olafactory gifts. A moment of getting used to it, and he steps from the truck, placing the can back in the compartment, moving to where Jean stands, taking out the equipment.He does not have Jean use the neutralizer; the cigar smell on /him/ would fade quickly, and Scratch does not want to be 'blind' to his friend in the field. Instead, Ian looks over the various equipment, eyes narrowed* I think you Frogs just lack imagination, can't think of any new lovely words, and name everything after everything else. Kind of like in the States. *A small grin, and Scratch's voice lowers* Talk softly. *not that Jean didn't /always/ do that, but a little softer even than normal would be a good idea* Where are the com headsets? Oh, here they are. *From a little space, tucked away, he pulls out a towel-bundled set of communicators that fit snugly on the head and appeared almost invisible. This would allow them to speak to eachother and hear eachother in the field. Each one was also fitted with a locator device, which would keep tabs on the wearers. Ian flips a small pager-like unit to Attrait... that was the locator, and he switches his on to see the two tiny blips, so close as to be almost one blip, on the screen. Then he nestles the headset in its place, making sure the fit is snug and the earpiece and mouthpiece are in their correct positions. He hands the other one to Jean. And rather than taking any of the firearms, Scratch shuffles through the affects, digging out what looks like a 9mm Luger, but is in reality a tranquilizer pistol. Six shots, one in the barrel. He searches and finds a replacement clip, tucking this into his pocket. Scratch, too, takes a few smoke bombs, a few nerve-gas canisters, conveniently down-sized to smoke-bomb scale, and bothers with little else save a small tool box specially fitted with a tiny, but durable hack saw and a few other brush-cutting devices. The last thing he straps to himself is a machete, glancing at Attrait to indicate he should take one, too. They were going into bush here, and they needed the correct implements; guns would do little to no good against tree limbs controlled by an UNnatural who would be panicked and scared* Try to take this one alive, if possible. There should be another tranq gun in here, too. *As usual, Ian is hardly worried about his own welfare... he has a strong healing factor that should take care of any cuts or scrapes or broken limbs. In his many pockets are several other odd and ends, like rope, netting and a syringe of morphine. GUARD, at this point, does have access to such things as lasers, but they were too bulky to carry on the person right now, meant mostly for mounted vehicles and the like, and the stasis pods were still being worked on, but would shortly enough be usable. Computers were a decade ahead of what the public and even military possessed, but not everyone and his dog had a satellite in space yet, so locators where as yet local. Even five years from now, Scratch thinks, from what I've heard of plans and progress, these poor kids won't have a snowball's chance in hell against us. He frowns at the thought, feeling it a bit unsportsmanlike, but dismissed it for now* Coffee would be nice. Maybe a beer, too. *He smiles at Jean, then assists in covering the truck. When all is secured, Scratch sighs softly, eyes the forest, and nods his head to Jean* Let's go in. We'll have to split up eventually and cover more ground that way. Keep in contact with me. *Scratch has also heard that GEMlabs was in the infant stages of working on some new equipment that would read signatures, store the information, and ahuge database would be formed. But for now, all they had is--- crap, almost forgot! Ian pauses, turns back to the truck, scrambles under the camoflauge tarp, and opens up the truck again, searching. He finds what he's looking for a few minutes later, fixes what he's mussed, and hands something to Jean; a monacle of sorts* Infrared. It switches to nightvision, too, in case we're out here longer. *It covers only one eye, and like the headset, it straps down to a snug fit. Shatterproof plastic layers with all kinds of little electronics hidden inside. He presses the button to turn it on and again takes a moment to adjust to the difference between one eyes seeing normally and one picking up heat signatures* Too bad we're not hunting deer. *he jokes lightly* They'd never see us coming with this get-up. *Then he quiets again and starts to head into the Whispering Woods*