Hunting Ravens

Off Guard

Each monitor displayed different streams of data and information. Others flipping through live CCTV footage from places all over the city. Papers littered the desks and cans of a popular soft drink peppers the various surfaces of the ring. Someone's attempt at cleaning consists of squashed balls of aluminium cans surrounding the ground of the trash bin.

"Sorry about the mess. It's organised in hunters own way, so I'd advise against moving anything." The doctor says as he appears beside me. As he begins to clear the empty cans, I take this as an opportunity to question him.

"So, Mr Waterford. What exactly is it that you do here?" I lean against one of the metal tables, avoiding any equipment and food my arms calmly. "Since I'm in this facility and your friend is now willingly apart of my case, you may as well debrief me, on what you can of course, of what you both do here." I make a gesture between the doctor and Hunter.

The doctor peers at me again in the strange way of his when he is deliberating his options. I begin to have the feeling that I had stumble on a particularly intriguing operation. ,y curiosity peaks as I spy a photo of Miller flicker over a display screen before scrolling through a database of information and surveillance photos. Could they have been on this case before his death? Trying to prevent it? That would explain why he was injured and refused medical attention from any official medical bay. That doesn't explain the blood though.

"Please. Call me Doc. Names, as you know are precious in certain lines of work." He replies cryptically as I mentally nod, thinking of my own fake name, Raven.

"You mentioned that Hunter was willing to tell you about why he was there." I nod to Doc in reply. "This means you are aware of the programme yes?" I raise my eyebrow at the word programme. Of course. Whenever the word 'programme' is used, it generally means some major power player is about to deal some serious trouble to ruin whatever good is in the world. I stay silent, letting Doc decide for himself if he goes forth with the conversation or not.

"Knife wound or not. Hunter would have had a reason for allowing you here. He must have decided he trusts you to some degree." I chuckle at the last statement.

"I assume the man doesn't trust many people?" Doc replies with his own laugh.

"He trusts no one. He has temporary allies." Doc moves out of the centre and disappears into a side door. After a time he returns with two steaming mugs.

"Coffee?" I ask appraisingly as I enjoy the warmth that seeps through to my palms. Doc nods silently, contemplating as he takes a tentative sip of his own beverage.

"Okay. I have no experience in telling this story to anyone. Just listen, don't interrupt or you'll ruin my train of thought and ask questions at the end." Doc suddenly blurts in anxiety. "Don't shoot the messenger either." He peers at me pleadingly. He closes his eyes, breathes and begins.

"A programme created by the new government named the Stalker programme was intimated to recruit and train members of the society into assassins. The programme recruited and trained Hunter. They utilised and polished his skills from the warm taught him new methods of warfare and espionage and altered his mind and body through experimental drugs. All emotions that deviated from his capability to stalk and kill his target were removed and deemed useless. Hunter became the very meaning of his name and became a deadly machine. He was sent off into society to blend in and live normally until activation. Hunters activation is the beginning of a stalk. He received a data package on who to stalk, gather Intel and assassinate without a trace." Doc peers at me apologetically as I try to clean up the spilt liquid from my shaking hands. I place the mug on the table, cross my arms again to try and stop the shaking and continue to listen to the craziest story I have ever heard.