The Hunt

Cecily's blade swung, hitting its mark as always.

The man's arm fell to the cold grass of the prison with a familiar thud. He let out a blood curdling scream. A warning to the rest. Stay away, the Hunter is here.

That's the name they'd given her, the Hunter. After she cut off the man who tried to rape hers masculinity, they stayed away. She'd made it clear anyone who tried to touch her would be hunted and slaughtered.

Cecily kneeled down, pushing the man's face into the dirt so she could use his back as a seat while she trifled through his belongings.

"You're hurting my ears," she told him, no remorse in her voice. "Quiet down before I really do kill you."

The man but his lip, well aware that she wasn't lying. Sobs shook him, making for an uncomfortable seat. She, however, didn't particularly feel the beed to kill him. It happened, not often, but it did.

"Oh, hush up," she hissed, taking out a bag of rations with her metal hand, "it doesn't hurt that bad."

With her good, human hand, she dropped the plastic bag of food into her own bag. She pushed up, off the man back.

As she was about to walk away, bag slung over her shoulder, brushing against her autumn colored braid, she turned back to him.

"Consider yourself lucky," she said, no hatred in her voice, there never was. "Consider yourself lucky that you didn't do anything stupid. And even luckier if one of the scum bagged criminals in here feel a little light in their hearts and help you. Consider yourself luckier if you die there."

With that, her old black and white Nike sneakers carried her off into the brush of the huge prison.