Viewpoint Variation (An Among Us Logic Fanfic)

Among Us Logic | The Last Crewmate: Hunter's POV

The Great Crewmate War of 2021. The grand leader of the Impostors discovered what was heavily believed to be the LAST Crewmate hideout there was. The Airship. But those pesky runts were prepared. The war was taken to the deep breaches of space, where every meaningful asset to each team fought in an all-out intergalactic brawl, with spaceships, lasers, explosions, and inexplicable floating text were thrown into the fight at EVERY given moment. I myself was on a separate mission at the time, but I heard many stories about our immense victory, and the BLOODSHED we revelled in for weeks to come. Word was we killed every single Crewmate left alive, with just how many guts we spilled just by ONLY bombing that lone Airship. There was so much meaningless, irrelevant life to be destroyed on that ship... and we were the monstrous killers for the job. We of course, eliminated all their other sources, but that was a noticeable one in our history, what with it seemingly being the LAST we would see of our pathetic little rivals. But as you are interviewing me about right now, it wasn't quite. And I am Tully humbled to tell my recounting of the events that day. I will gladly share the story of the Hunter's Hunt. 

As my title pretty obviously suggests, I specialise in hunting. I willingly act as a spy, mercenary, assassin, or anything along those lines. I'm always on the prowl for possible prey, and that's why I was so sceptical of us killing the LAST Crewmate. For such an idle species, they could legitimately put up a fight. On my MANY attempts to end a Crewmate, they always stood their ground, and left themselves in a state of pure defence. Which is honestly surprising, given how easily they should logically BE to just snap their necks, but it's like they don't even WANT to die. I've even studied their malicious hate towards my kind, and reversed it into their very own demise, making use of my thirst for justice towards my people. Our rivalry is a balance I wish to kill, and due to my hobby of murderous assaults, and my pretty-much-a-giveaway title, you can understand how I intend to achieve that death. I have spent DAYS in the forests, stalking my helpless victims amongst the natural world, and spreading a scarlet hue across the grass as they fall, BLEEDING to the ground. And as I was recruited for this mission, I was going to invest all that effort into the LEAST portant mission I would ever face. For you see... my suspicions were right. There was one known Crewmate who, by not letting me handle the mission all those years ago, escaped with only a MINIATURE scar on the visor, compared to the battle scars I intend to build my character with, once I actually have trouble with my hunting. I've been a professional for a while, but I'm a LIL' disappointed in the lack of that. I'd like those kinds of epic backstories.

As the story goes, that Crewmate scrub, Player, sent out an electronic message to be intercepted by any other living Crewmates. Fortunately, we ALREADY thought we killed them all, so it's sky-highly-unlikely that there was even a second alive Crewmate to aid his rotten state of life. Luckily, we're the SUPERIORS, and we were going to very *nicely* put him out of his misery with really technological laser guns. Personally, I preferred the regular ones, as it looks a lot more badass if you shoot their guts out, but I had no authority. And that was fine enough. Guns are guns, and I don't even need elbows to pack BIG 'uns. As this story is told, I was recruited to a task force to CORRECT:Y eliminate this idiotic feud, with, you know, more of the mass-murder that began the whole thing, I think. Sorry if my memory's a little clogged, but wall that time in the forests has caused me some CONSEQUENCES for my actions, in the form of steaming up my memory and breathing on occasion. And that was very well showcased that day, as I choked on air in the very first few minutes I was to introduce myself to Darth Gentleman, and prove my worth as a menace. That certainly is something I AM good at doing, so it was, aside from the asthmatic issues, I was entrusted to NOT choke this mission. I really wanted those new hunting grounds, so I was PERFECTLY willing to go on this dangerous of a killing.

We took to the ground, busted open the Airship gate, strapped-up, and ran in FIRED UP for the kill... except Baggy, really. I mean, I for one perfectly understand how hungry a bean can get when alone, stranded in the work, for an elongated period o' time. But this was a serious DEATH mission. There's no real necessity to pack a lunch! Just pack some firearms, and that'll be enough. Gnome went a little over-the-top with that mentality, wielding a borderline CREEPY thirst for bloodshed, and abandoning me with the aired-out paper person. Baggy was in support of the garden gnome's movements, but agreed with me that the definition of FOOD should be restricted to food. I still didn't think food was a reasonable option in this crucial time, so I ran off as well. A Hunter has to go on the Hunt, no matter the cost. Baggy should've known that before preparing to enjoy a good meal, like a child. But at least a CHILD would know to, at the bare minimum, not use the weird brown bread. Seriously, Baggy.

Although I was on the whole other side of the room, I overheard Baggy's oddly logical existential questioning, given I had to forcefully enhance my hearing to listen to the sound of my victims, so I can properly listen out for their callings. He made some really good points on our contradictory anatomy, and for a split second, had me wondering the same things. But I kept my visor on the prize, uh... I couldn't think of a rhyme there. So I scoured the surrounding areas as much as I POSSIBLY could, and given my expertise and experience with large, vast, open areas, this was going to be like Baggy's breakfast, probably; a piece of cake... until Player got as irritated with Baggy's crap as any normal bean would after being cooped up in a box, having to listen to him throughout, with actual semi-decent food, that it's ENTIRELY reasonable to punch him right in his... face? I'm not sure, he DID create some unusual, interesting ideas about our anatomy, which are now locked in my mind-hole. As I tried my hardest to ignore that, I decided to explore the Medical room for anything useful, whilst Gnome, being the insane hyperactive being she is, went in for the KILL as soon as the Crewmate revealed himself. I however, like to take my TIME with my smooth deaths, and so I searched through the nearby location for any torturous weaponry. The most I found was a lava lamp, so I headed back into Cargo Bay. Just in time too, as Gnome, in her rush for blood, had been careless, and left herself open to the Crewmate's comebacks. Like a TRUE gnome, she was trapped in a solitary state of stoic imprisonment. And as I ran down my prepared monologue about luck (Which was a concept surprisingly relevant to that situation on BOTH sides of this pointless battle), disaster struck. A *BAD* case of luck, in my monologue about how lucky that Player fool was that I supposed to leave him ALIVE. Ironic. I choked on my own breathing, hardly able to swallow, and soon... oh, actually, I'm not sure I can finish this tale -COUGH- since -COUGH- talking about my choking issues -COUGH- has limelighted them a little. -COUGH-. I suppose we can leave this story open-ended in the sake of health, right? Right.