The drive was long.

Night was upon Artemis far before she arrived at the logging camp and mill, the cold whipping winds howling over what crackling radio station she could get to come in. It was oldies rock, classic 80's shit, but she wasn't complaining in the least. It beat the silence by a mile.

Overhead, the moon shone down with cold crystal light. The road, cracked with age and disuse, was stark against the pitch black of the trees which flanked it. Old growth stretched high to the sky now, reaching up towards the cosmos, arborous claws grasping at those sparkling celestial bodies as if begging for salvation from their earthen prison. The wind was strong, and squealed through gaps in the metal of the van's chassis, wherever it could find room. The energy coming from this place was bad.

Sasquatch shouldn't do that. They were a more 'natural' monster, a Cryptid, and as such their connection to the Craft and the powers that existed beneath the skin of the world was thin. They couldn't even emit fear or paralysis in the same way, though their appearance was glamoured to cause interference on any sort of image-capturing attempts, even magical. They were strong fighters and brutal, able to make popular fighting game characters look like pushovers... But that was the extent of it.

Tab had fought a 'squatch before, but a smaller one, just a fledgeling only recently grown from the moss and trees. It had fractured her bicep and shattered a few ribs on it's own. This was going to be a hard fucking hunt, and one that might be drawn-out. They didn't like direct confrontation if they could avoid it, instead preferring a unique combination of stealth and all-out savagery. They were also pretty smart, smart enough to use tools if necessary, and there'd even been isolated reports of them wielding dropped guns from errant hunters.

Her van tires came to a crackling halt upon the gravel and dirt, the road having long since turned wild after she passed the last little nameless hamlet. Parking spots were in abundance, it seemed: or, rather, anywhere was a parking spot in a place like this, so it mattered little. She stopped her rig outside of a dilapidated longhouse of a building with the word 'MESS' engraved into a half-rotten wall sign. The windows were shattered and one door was broken in, long with half the ceiling. It was overrun with weeds.

"Fuckin' nice little place, eh? Real cozy..." She spoke to no one but herself, donning her raiment once more: made from soda cans and sheet metal and other salvaged scrap like an old pressure cooker, which she had spent painstaking hours assembling into plates, it was a loose suit of armor that fit overtop of her cozy green bomber jacket. Some sewn-on hooks and snaps allowed her to fit the two garments together into one, slightly limiting her mobility in exchange for giving her a tighter overall physique and greatly heightened protection. Last came the 'helmet' - a modified welding mask, painted over and given slightly protruding 'teeth'. She supposed it made her look like a hunting hound.

Doktor in one hand and bag of flares in the other, she proceeded forth towards the main building. It was a lumber mill, three stories at least, made of decades-old sheet metal and steel supports. It reeked of rust and damp even in these winter months, likely from her quarry's habitation: indeed, as she drew closer, her flashlight's ring came alight upon some truly grisly trophies.

Heads, mounted on crude wooden spikes. The heads were mostly from ages long-gone, only skulls or a close approximation at this point, but a singular cranium still dripped with blood. The body was nearby, or some of it, anyways: an arm twisted like a wrung-out towel, fingers smashed completely. The rest must've been taken for food.

"Shit... Did he just get here before me...? Not a good start. Poor fucker should've waited a bit longer, maybe he'd still be kicking..." Tabitha spoke with emotion, at least some of it, but her expression barely wavered. She'd seen plenty like this weekender end up with the same fate, or worse. At least the poor bastard she was looking at now probably died quick. Sasquatch were smart, but weren't often cruel unless they'd truly been pushed. At their heart they were animals trying to survive and protect their homes.

Now that was a sad thought. They were killing humans, which meant they had to be dealt with, but they only committed such murder in retaliation. Who was the real monster?

Artemis chuckled under her mask. They were, of course - the woods were huge, and if Sasquatches wanted to live in them they could just hit the bricks and move to a different patch. They couldn't own the whole damn thing, and once they started to murder innocents, then they became a problem.

This little self-righteous reverie was interrupted by a howl deep in the woods - but getting closer. It sounded like a raging ape mixed with a dying bison, long and guttural and angry and horn-like. This was to be expected: it was the Sasquatch, who had probably moved all the way out there to make it seem like it was just returning home. The howl was to scare Tabitha away without a conflict, to scare her into retreat so that its home would remain untouched. Not gonna work.

It had gone fairly far out, and she was given some time to ensure she had the proper supplies: flares, bear traps, slug shells, rope, caltrops... A handful of other goodies as well, but nothing too interesting. The roar sounded again as she was finishing up packing, throwing her things into her duffel (which had been previously emptied of money, into the bottom drawer of her workbench) and then slinging it up and over her shoulder. A machete was grabbed from the gun-rack to finish things off, really just a slapdash construction made with rivets and plastic and an old lawnmower blade, but it was as good a sidearm as any.

The van door was shut gingerly to prevent notice, and once it was, she turned to give the area one more quick survey.

There was the Mess Hall, a long and likely long-abandoned building; it smelled of rot from the old food within, gasses burst from canned goods long since fouled, their fetid ichor giving the whole place a disgusting aura. Next, the main mill: probably the squatch's home, the biggest building of them all and the one with the heads mounted outside of it. A monster's lair was a bad place to fight, without a doubt - it knew intimately every little nook and crevice within the building, meaning that conflict was almost impossible. She'd get a sharp rock or sawblade through the neck before she could even see it to block it.

No, no, those wouldn't work... The residential buildings were next, row after row of small cabins with barely a foot of space betwixt, offering small solace. That was shit, too, but she could set up traps, at the least... It would need to work. Her feet sped over as fast as the gravel would allow without making too much noise, the Doktor's flashlight used to keep the mazelike passages between the cabins lit. She had three bear traps in total, and not much time to set and place them - intersections made them a new nest, with caltrops spread haphazardly down each. With her machete she made marks at the edge of intersections where caltrops lay hidden in the weeds, and her traps shone dully in the light.

It would be enough.

She was sprinkling her last handful of caltrops when a sound alerted her: a low growl, twenty or so feet to her right. There was no more time for warnings, the Sasquatch's patience worn down to the bone. This was it. The game was afoot. No more chance for prep.

And then, the rasp of a flare coming alight broke her concentration, so strange and unexpected that it seemed fearsome. Bright red luminescence poured down the pathways separating each miniature cabin like some hell-born searchlight, phosphorus smoking into the night with a dull fizzling sound. Boots stomped through the light snow and gravel, the sound of a heavy jacket whippling in the wind. Leather, by the way it creaked and flapped. A voice called out, mature and masculine but mid-twenties in age; it was strong and mahogany, tasteful and deep and enticing.

"...hello? Anyone in there? I was told I'd be meeting a hunter tonight to help me clear this place out... I'm Gavin, Gavin Folsmith. This's my daddy's place, and his daddy's before him. You better get out here right now, or I'll get my gun. I swear it. "

Tab's mouth was agape, but she shut it immediately - something prickled at her about this, but a squatch couldn't speak like a man, and a man couldn't turn into a squatch... Plus, she was sure she'd heard that howling. If this really was her damn contractor out here alone like a fool, she'd need to keep him safe.

With a bitter sigh Artemis cleared her throat, setting down the Doktor and putting her hands in the air. Her heavy black boots stomped out into the flare-light, and she took a moment to flip her welder mask up as she was spotted. An apologetic tone rolled from her despite the wry emotion in her heart, though her expression was surely a mask of distaste at being called from her hiding place amongst the shadows and the shacks.

"Oi. I'm, uh... I'm here. I'm here. I'm your hunter, Tabitha Varna, but my Community alias is Artemis - you know, Goddess of the Hunt and the moon and stuff. From Greek legend. Or something like that, I never really was sure between the Romans and the Greeks and all that shit." She spat the words out with a hateful tinge, each syllable venemous to match a scorpion's kiss, her eyes squinting hard and brows furrowed harder from the flare-light. Her new friend laughed as he lowered the blaze so his face was visible.

Standing a square foot above Artemis and deceptively strong-looking, the man who called himself Gavin Folstrom was easier on the eyes than our intrepid protagonist had assumed. Long blonde hair the color of fine French custard fell from his shoulders, his skin was alabaster (or presumably, given how reddish he looked from the flare's glow) and without blemish, and his eyes were a thick, chocolaty brown, like a delicious milkshake. He wore a black leather duster and cowboy boots over his jeans and plain t-shirt, and he held a wood-axe in his off hand. In a holster at his hip lay a polished revolver big enough to break even a strong man's wrist.

His teeth, as he smiled, were long and white and well cared-for.

"Well, shit, here you are! I've been waiting all night. Your little friend, the one at the shelter, she said you'd probably be comin' 'round tonight. So, that thing... That sasquatch, right, it's holed up inside. Big fucker, real mean, but I managed to get it good in the leg a few hours before you got here. I'd be in there now, but... Well... I'm not a professional at this, and to be frank, I'd feel better going in with a friend, you know?"

Tabitha could only stare blankly. Here was a supermodel who looked like he'd never fired a gun in his lifetime, claiming that he had singlehandedly cornered a sasquatch inside it's own lair, and that he had done all this with nary a scratch and using just a fucking revolver. Either he was the best shot to ever live, he had the devil's luck on his side, or he was a plain liar.

"...alright. I see what's happening here, Gavin, I really do. You're trying to act tough and look good, right? Like you've got this all wrapped up, so that when we go in there and I get my ass beaten into a bloody pulp by this thing, you can take the killing blow and not need to hand out any cash, right? No way, buddy. I've got my fuckin' eye on you."

Gavin's eyes went wide, now his turn to raise his hands. He took a few steps back, both caught off guard and seemingly amused by Tab's accusation. He chuckled softly for a few moments, the cold sound of his mirth echoing through the cold nighttime air. Overhead, the moon had begun to crest the treetops, their pine spires giving it a distinctly sinister bed of nails to rise from.

"Woah, woah, friend, buddy... Artemis. I ain't here to do anything of the sort. It would look bad to the rest of my... contacts, if I let the hunter who took down my big bad beastie die in the process, right? No one would ever trust me again, and as the both of us know, if you're in you're in. There's no leaving the Community. Not even if you want to."

He continued to chuckle for a bit before clearing his throat and swallowing, gesturing towards the old mill. It creaked in the wind like a mammalian death throe, groans and squeals of bending metal making love to the wind-whispers which wintry gusts brought along with. Without warning he drew and aimed, pointing at one of the remaining in-tact windows, and cracked off a shot - it shattered loudly, and after a moment there was a low, pained roar that reverberated from within.

Artemis was on-fucking-edge as soon as he reached for the gun - she'd treat this bastard about as far as she could throw him - but it seemed he was telling the truth. This time. "See? The big ol' bastard's inside, should be in the main room if the gore's any indicator. 'E's got all sorts'a loot strung up on the old chains and shit, and some half-eaten woods creatures gnawed on in a pile. Deer and the like. And, uh... I'll come clean, probably a human body. A different hunter came up not too long ago, unprompted, and told me he'd be safe while I went and got ammo. Well..."

Gavin gestured to the head on the stake, his smile turning a bit rueful. Artemis nodded, wordless - they both could see what had come of unpreparedness. Spontaneity rarely worked well in this line of work, and it was the great gate keeper which barred amateurs more than any ferocious beast or hateful spirit.

Tab hefted her chainsaw and pulled back down her mask with a sigh, eyes still on the gun. He put it away, but a revolver like that... She put the thought from her mind. He was probably just using what he had, after all, and she did respect that he'd show up to personally help with the monster's defeat.

"Fine. Let's head in, then. I'll lead the way, but I'm telling you right now, this armor can stop a bullet, and I'm drawn up in runes to the fucking teeth. I know some damn good witches, ok? So that fuckin' handgun better stay facing the squatch and not me."

"Message received, Miss. I'll aim for the head, haha... No, but really. I've got your back." Gavin's smile faded as he spoke, eventually offering her a nod of confirmation. He took up the gun in a stance behind her, waiting for her to start moving - she took the lead on cue, trudging towards the main mill.

Up close, the building was like some tyrant's obelisk, looming endlessly into the moonlit blanket of midnight velvet. The double-doors were open but only darkness loomed beyond, her flashlight barely penetrating the all-consuming void of light that lay within. It was like a tomb, or a prison, or a grave. Or some other word meaning 'place where they kept dead bodies', because honestly, she was already getting a bad feeling from this shit.

Behind her was a man she was absolutely fucking convinced was a rat - not just convinced, she was certain he was crooked somehow. The way he laughed, he looked, he bore himself, he handled his gun... There were assassins, real-world, non-Community hitmen that found the slaying of humans droll. They grew weary of the easy prey that most of humankind presented, and they would seek ever more challenging targets until eventually their sights fell upon the hidden world of the paranormal and supernatural. Most of them underestimated how wily and ferocious a spirit or beast could be. The few that survived were noted for their efficiency, and prices.

Gavin didn't remind her of a wealthy heir looking to clear up his daddy's land. He reminded her of a killer.