Episode 1 『 Hunter 』
#1. Entrance
When the ringing of his phone finally woke him, the sun was already piercing through the window, blazing down on the room. It was 11 a.m.
The third alert had been desperately calling for him, but he stayed motionless, eyes closed.He thought that if he kept ignoring it, it would eventually give up on its own.But the alert nagged on stubbornly, tormenting him.
When he could no longer float in that drowsy haze of sleep, irritation flared up. He snatched up the phone with a burst of anger.
[Incident]Location: Montresor Bank, Stonefield BranchSubject: Male, mid-50sCasualties: 5 dead
The alert that had been bothering him disappeared as indifferently as if it had only dropped off a message.He finally forced his heavy body upright.
Messy hair.
Closed eyes.
With his right hand he fumbled across the table, searching for his cigarettes and lighter.He struck the flint—fwish—and a flame leapt up.He brought the tip of the cigarette to the fire and drew in so deeply his cheeks hollowed. As he inhaled, the paper wrapping the cigarette crackled and glowed red as it burned away.
He exhaled a cloud of gray, hazy smoke.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
He wasn't thinking about anything at all.
He rose from his seat and gathered the items on his desk.
A long coat.
A handgun.
Three or four bullets.
He picked up the gun and looked it over, turning it this way and that.Sunlight reflected off the barrel and slid down into his eyes.On the barrel, the word "SKIMA" was engraved in low relief.
He opened the cylinder and brought one of the six chambers close to his eye.Through the dark hole he could see a woman in a poster, smiling so widely you could see both her white teeth and gums, as if something about life delighted her immensely.
He picked up the bullets and loaded them into the six chambers one by one.With each click of a round sliding into place, a strange sense of satisfaction seeped out of him.When the last bullet was in, he held one of them back and rubbed it twice with his thumb.(It would probably be today's first bullet.)
When he snapped the cylinder shut, the clean, tight sound it made felt like the final note of his preparations.
He shrugged on the long coat.
The yellow daisies blooming by the window shone brightly in the sunlight.
He ground the burnt-down cigarette butt into the ashtray.
Quietly, he opened the door and stepped outside into the pouring sunlight.
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It was a morning like any other.The bank was crowded, and as many people as there were, the wait was just as long.
A man holding his numbered ticket in one hand dozed off while waiting for his turn.By the time he woke up, his number had already passed.
Flustered, he grabbed his bag and rushed to the counter, pushing aside the person who was being helped and thrusting his ticket at the clerk.
The clerk, displeased with the man's behavior, firmly told him to take another number.
Was it the clerk's cold tone that angered him?
Or was it the thought of all the time he'd wasted waiting?
The man suddenly started screaming at the top of his lungs. His eyes flushed a furious red, and a vein bulged up from his neck, crawling up his face as he began to convulse.
The clerk's body froze like stone, as if he were seeing someone in the throes of a fit for the first time.
The man's body twisted and shook, and the sound of bones snapping echoed here and there as he moaned in agony.Blood trickled from his eyes and mouth, and the veins crawling over his skin turned a dark, sinister red.
As the man writhed in mindless torment, the clerk cast a desperate look toward the security guard in the distance, silently pleading for help.
But before the guard at the main entrance could even approach, the man suddenly raised his right hand high into the air and brought it crashing down onto the clerk's head.
The clerk's head separated cleanly from his body and dropped to the lobby floor.From the now headless neck, blood erupted like a fountain.
Screams burst out from every direction, and the inside of the bank dissolved into pure chaos.
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An hour had passed since the incident, but there was still no sign of rescue.The breathing of the people hiding inside the bank grew faster and faster.If this went on, it felt like they would all pass out, crushed under the weight of their terror.
Then, from somewhere behind the counters, a phone started to vibrate.
People, already on edge, glanced around anxiously, silently cursing the unseen owner of the phone for not answering it.
An employee huddled in one corner stared at his own phone, trembling.For the first few seconds he simply stared, eyes wide, praying that the call looking for him would just stop.
But cruelly, the vibration showed no sign of ending.
As though he'd realized he was going to be the next victim, the employee stood up with a strangely calm expression.
He turned his head and looked at the madman.When their eyes met, the madman's twisted face split into a grin, revealing razor-sharp teeth.
He had a human shape, but he was no longer human.At the sight of that horrifying, inhuman figure, the strength drained from the employee's body.
So this is what the last moment of your life feels like, he thought, a swell of sorrow rising in his chest. Tears welled in his eyes.
It was the very instant the madman's hand shot toward the employee's head.
The bank's front door quietly opened in the distance.A man in a long coat stepped inside and walked in slowly.
As if he had no grasp of the situation, he took a numbered ticket and then pressed a button on the coffee machine beside him.
A paper cup dropped with a clatter, the machine whirred, and coffee began to pour.
The madman let out a monstrous howl and charged at the newcomer, furious at this sudden intrusion.
[Gunshot]
With a single shot, a large hole opened in the madman's skull.Just moments ago he had been killing people with lightning-fast strikes, but now he crumpled to the floor, completely limp.
The whole thing happened so fast that everyone was left speechless, as if struck in the back of the head.
A short beep from the coffee machine signaled that the coffee was ready.The man took the cup as if nothing had happened, took a sip, then tilted his head slightly and set the paper cup down on the shelf before turning to leave.
At that moment, someone mustered the courage to approach him and ask:
"...Are you with the police?"
The man hesitated for a moment at the question, then let out a wry smile.
"Just a passing hunter."