Reaper

Shadows

I was lost. I had somehow found myself in a hospital room lit only by the light of the moon and the monitors that emitted a cold blue light. The girl lay in the bed, her chest heaving from the pressure of the machines that kept her stable. Her fragile form was limp, her eyes closed as she continued her prolonged dreamless sleep. "A coma." I sighed in frustration. I walked over to the bed and sat. The bed creaked and tilted slightly under the pressure of the new weight making the girl's body slump toward me.

I glanced at the girl, her face a picture of the suffering she obviously felt. I stood quickly, turning toward the window that I had been forced to close, to act as a barrier against the sirens and shouting outside. Looking at the girl again I, for the first time in what seemed like an age, felt the weight of the gun strapped to the belt around my waist. The Beretta M9A1, standard military issue semi-automatic pistol. The worn piece had not seen the same sort of care since I had left the service. I pulled the slide back and the single bullet stared back.

I felt the presence more than heard it. I snapped round flicking the slide back into position before pointing the firearm at the intruder. "Oh," I said lowering the gun to its holster, "it's you." The dark inhuman figure stood on the other side of the room wreathed in shadows.

"Is that any way to treat your benefactor?" the being remarked, an extended appendage pointing in the direction of the gun at my hip.

"It's the least you'd deserve Reaper." I snapped. The being just held its upper appendages at its chest and though its expression did not change, I knew that it was making a mockery of the very human feeling of being offended.

The Reaper glided forwards a few paces, his prominence draining the moonlight and outside sounds from the room, leaving as the only source of light the azure hue of the medical equipment. I felt once again the weight of the horror's presence. The ensuing silence was accentuated by the periodic beep of the machinery.

"So here we are." The deep, echoing voice hissed from the darkness.

"Here we are." I muttered in agreement.

"With this you'll have kept your end of our bargain Hunter."

"I know."

"Just one more. What does it matter who it is?"

"But... she's..." Hunter began,

"Dying anyway, if anything you'll be doing her family a service. Hope is a fragile thing." When I didn't reply The Reaper continued, "Hope causes people to fear the inevitable. It makes humans so... what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Afraid?" I suggested.

"I was going to say pathetic," I looked down at my boots, "but afraid works too." The Reaper offered in consolation. "There is nothing brave or admirable about denying the inevitable."

The words stung, though I had never noticed the sleight before it was now clear that the immortal thing did not respect me as its partner in crime.

I looked down again at the M9A1 running a hand over its smooth surface, the firearm still held the warmth of my hands.

"The Beretta M9," the ethereal voice echoed through the room. It began to cackle to itself filling the room with a cacophonous noise that was hard on my ears, though I made no attempt to protect myself from the sound. "I find it so amusing how you, as a race, are so adept at killing each other and everything else around you."

I ignored the comment returning attention to the sidearm. It was a lightweight design, accurate and an easy to handle recoil, if you were accustomed to it. I was well accustomed.

'How did I get here? How did things get so complicated?' I pondered.

"It's simple. You're the Hunter."

"How did I become like this?" I said aloud looking down, hands outstretched and open, as if perceiving them for the first time.

"It's not something that you have become. You have always been a Hunter, in name and in heart."

"You made me like this!" My accusation rang through the room somehow echoing through the darkness.

"Now, now." The Reaper cooed, "There is no need for such unfair words." I could feel the smile though it was not visible through the shadows. The outline of the being moved closer to the bed where the girl lay. The form began to lean over the unconscious child. The sound of the gun clicking as I pulled the hammer back was dampened, suppressed by the void that enveloped the room, but it was there. The Reaper backed from the girl. "Now, now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here Hunter." The form in the shadows turned its head back to the girl. "Why is this different?"

I turned, "What?"

"Why is she any different from the rest?"

"Because she has done nothing wrong!"

"How do you know?"

"She's just a child!"

"And she'll grow up to be an adult who is just as conniving and deceitful as the rest of you."

"She might not. She has done nothing wrong, even if..."

"What? Even if she grew up to be a tyrant? A murderer? A liar?"

"She isn't those things yet..."

"Why does that matter?"

"You can't judge someone by what they could become."

"You can't judge someone by the future events that could come to pass you mean?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. The Reaper's form twisted to look in my direction.

"Then why do you justify what you did with their past?"