I Am the Reaper

The Sower

Four 

~ The Sower ~

The suited man is pleased with me.

Since first leaving the confines of my cage and heading into the woods, my bounty of blood has doubled in volume, until I am returning with full-grown men whose strength is no match for my own. Though I don't care about the suited man or what he thinks beyond the syringe he holds, I've noticed how he has started calling me Reaper instead of Subject. Like I am worthy of the name.

He can have it. His names and his pride and whatever else lives in between. I breathe Red now. That's the only thing that exists, like the cares of the world have been liquefied and swept inside a syringe. The moment of it is fleeting, but during that small time, everything goes quiet. The hunger dies. The roaring calms. There's just a pocket of empty. Feeling the Red is to feel almost human again.

Whatever that was like.

The others have learned to fear me. When we're released into the tunnels, the other reapers-the subjects- stay away from me, as if one wrong look will earn them a fight. They are not wrong. I've gotten into more brawls than I can count, with bloody knuckles and aching ribs and burning cuts, but the suited man does not punish me. In fact, sometimes I think he likes to see what I can do. My power is a weapon he prides himself on unleashing.

I don't know how much time has passed. Enough to where my first outing starts to blur along the edges, until I can't recall anything before that. Hunting, as far as I'm concerned, is all I've ever done.

"Take the South tunnel this time," the suited man orders one day. It's the morning after I brought back two boys for him, wading in the stream with barbed tools in their hands. They were young, but they were strong and didn't give up as easily as some seniors.

The suited man flicks the syringe back and forth, the action issuing a growl from me. I bottle it in my chest, though. Let it simmer there.

His gaze lingers on mine, as if scrutinizing my self-control. He is waiting for me to snap, but the presence of the syringe keeps me from attacking, the presence of the device in his other hand, from moving. Neither is enough to keep me from glaring, though. I can feel the heat backed up behind my eyes, putting pressure on my temples.

He fingers the device, debating on whether or not to turn it on.

An image comes to mind, of me stepping forward and snatching the device from his grip. Of grabbing it so hard it breaks in my hand. I imagine doing the same to him.

But the suited man is just playing a game, and waves me off. He doesn't turn away from me though, and neither do any of the suits. They back up, never giving us an opening to pounce.

I don't hesitate to turn around. The only damage they can do is with the device, and it doesn't matter whether my back is on them or not. No, I just want to hurry with the hunt so I can get my dose of Red and let all this fade away. For a moment.

The tunnels don't seem as dark as they once did. My eyes have adjusted to the shadows, my boots accustomed to the packed earth. I haven't gone South yet and don't know where I'll end up. But I've gotten better at finding my way back, through heavy rain that allows even a mountain to hide behind.

I don't hear the patter of water above the tunnels today though, and keep my knife secured by my side as I go. I also have a club, but it's heavy and can throw me off balance. I prefer the smallness of a blade, its compacted lethality quick and easy. I know where to strike someone's neck that kills them. How I know that, I can't remember.