As we coasted into the main stretch of town on the old chevy patches of people slowly became visible near the general store. Dad parked the car as I watched them all idle around and chatter nervously. I wouldn't be surprised if half the town's population had gathered.

I jumped out of the passenger seat and nodded to Jared and Kyle, two of our three farm hands who'd been riding along in the cargo bed. Jared was around my age, came into town looking for work last year. He didn't like to talk about himself, but he was as able-bodied as the rest of us, so we didn't ask any unnecessary questions. Built like a goddamn tank, the man could lift near twice as much as the rest of us. While my skin was pale as paper and burned like kindling, Jared sported an enviable russet tan.

Kyle on the other hand, was a rightful chatterbox. I'd never heard someone go on about nothing for as long as he can. He refused to cut his hair, leaving it to hang around his shoulders. We'd damn near beg him to at least tie it back but he stubbornly insisted otherwise. I don't know how in hell he could work with all that dark hair stuck to his face, but I suppose a man's gotta keep his pride.

All four of us were armed with sturdy .300 bolt-action rifles, the sort that we used when black bears got a bit too close for comfort. From the looks of it, most other folk had similar inclinations. I spotted many variations of the same .300 I was holding, as well some newer models, the kind that fired multiple rounds in the blink of an eye and punched holes through concrete walls. Now I wasn't a gun-junkie like a lot of the folks round here, but growing up in the country meant that I had a handle on the very basics at least, and I could say for certain that this was the most firing power I'd seen since a cusith appeared in the next town over. The county ended up sending a near army to help 'em out. We ain't got money to lure players, and I didn't see any county-sponsored militia heading our way, so it seemed to be up to a bunch of armed hicks to try and defend against whatever bastards were approaching.

I sat on the bed of the pickup with Kyle and Jared while the oldest farmhand, Dan, held a hushed and huddled conversation with my dad. I didn't know what they were up to, but it didn't seem like I could do anything about it. Dan was only a bit younger than my dad, he'd been around for longer than the others. He even helped out with some of the farm management stuff. It probably wasn't right to call him just a farm hand anymore, but that's the way it was. Not many people liked to settle in our town for very long.

I gazed up at the faint orange window in the corner of my eye. The timer had counted down to around five minutes, and I could tell people were starting to twitch. Chatter and panicked voices grew louder into anxious ambiance. From across the crowd, I heard two voices yell a bit over the rest of the rabble. Hopping off the truck with my rifle carefully in hand, I tried to get a better look at what was going on.

Under the awning of the general store stood two people squared off against each other like a couple of territorial dogs. One of the guys was a farmer with a magnanimously round build, while the other couldn't be anything other than a city slicker with that dark black, clean-pressed suit of his. Behind them stood the sturdily built Mr. Richardson, the owner of the general store. His muscular, dark arms were crossed tightly in front of him as he calmly watched the spectacle occuring on his property.

“Y'ain't know what this means to me!” screamed the farmer, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular.

“I’m trying to tell you, you’ll all die! Is your shitty house more important to you than your life?” the stranger yelled back. “Have you ever even-- even seen an event before? Do you all have a death wish or something?!”

“Whether I wanna die or not is between me and God; It ain't got nothin' to do with some bastard who's known me for all o' twenty minutes!”

“Don't you have a family? Someone you care about? Listen, my s-- son-- son was a player, and he-- he passed away in a stream just--”

"I don't give a flying fuck about your bitchass son!”

“The fuck dude?! I'm just trying to help here, lay off!” shouted the stranger, whose gangly arm reared back, ready to strike.

Mr. Richardson quickly stepped between them, acting as a solid wall to the flimsy nature of the man from the city.

“Woah, woah, woah, there,” he consoled in a deep voice, as if calming a horse. “We can’t go fightin’ each other now. Jerry, I agree wi’ ya but that ain’t a reason to spit on the dead.”

“Right, Rich. Sorry.” The farmer grumbled something under his breath, eyeing Mr. Richardson from below. The two were both large men, but of clearly different compositions.

The stranger’s face was bright red, eyes narrowed. Biting his lip and turning to Mr. Richardson, he said, “Listen, I’m not staying any longer. I just wanted to make sure you guys knew what you were getting into.” He took a breath. “My son was just twenty five. He became a player because he wanted to show off to some girl. Once he was in, he got hooked on the danger and the thrill, I guess. He-- He passed during an event just two years after he started.”

Richardson put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

The stranger looked up at him. “I appreciate that, but you-- you don’t understand. All that was left of him after the event was bones a-- and-- and some muscle hanging off ‘em. They only showed me after I insisted.” The glossy eyes of the stranger stared off into space.

“He was twenty five. So young… he never even dated that girl, b-- by the way. It was horrible… I… I w-- watched the recording afterwards. They w-- warned me. You… you can’t unsee th-- thing-- things like that. It’s not worth it.”

Richardson looked a bit taken aback at the man’s claim. I shuddered a bit.

Are we really gonna be okay?

The stranger stepped away from the store and walked over to a parked blue compact car. "I h-- hope you all live through this. I wouldn't wish-- wish what happened to my s-- son on my worst enemy," he proclaimed, his voice shaky and coarse. Mr. Richardson gave him a nod and a wave as his tiny blue backed up and sped off towards the county highway.

I must admit, I was a bit dumbfounded by the warning of the stranger. I didn't know what to think of the trembling, pale, middle-aged man and the well of fear that had lurked in his eyes. I made my way back to the red pickup and stood by my father's side. I gazed up at him, his face worn and tan, with wrinkles started to settle in the creases of his skin. His mouth was tightened into a thin line, his eyebrows creased and furrowed.

“Dad…” I started. “Do you think--”

“I don’t know,” he interrupted. “Best we can do is hunker down, try and wait it out. We don’t got any idea what’s coming.”

Beside him, Daniel nodded. Daniel was taller than my dad, but not by much. “Kian, don’t freak out too much. Just try to remember to stay calm, and make the best decision you can in the moment.”

I nodded, but couldn't help but worry. There were too many questions, too many sudden developments. I didn't like it one bit. Still, I leaned against the truck, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the forestock of my rifle. My mind whirred with questions that had no answer.

Event - “The Wild Hunt”

Starting in 28 Seconds…

It felt like time had slowed to a crawl while the seconds slowly ticked by, yet I felt desperate for just a little more time to prepare. My eyes darted back and forth, scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble. Not a single thing. Not even the sounds of birds chirping or the constant whine of crickets, just absolute silence. The quiet was suffocating, almost eerie. I couldn’t even hear a single goddamn chicken.

11...

5...

3...

2...

1...

It started with the howling.

A distant whine was the first thing to break the silence. High-pitched and descending, but never seeming to get any lower. My hands shakily grabbed for ammunition as I released the safety on my gun.

The whine turned into a piercing drone, something akin to wind during a storm or the ominous moving warble of a tornado siren. Reverberating thumps started to grow louder and faster, echoing through the shallow valley like a chaotic drum beat. I pulled the bolt of the rifle and fumbled the ammunition into the magazine.

On the horizon appeared a dark shape, nothing but an amorphous blob. But as it grew closer, I started to see them. Multiple beasts, four-legged creatures that looked almost like boars. With them looming in the distance and only farmland to gauge my perception, I hastily released the bolt, locking the bullet in the chamber, and aimed in their general direction.

Their forms seemed to waver in my sight, just out of focus. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get rid of the strange blurriness that surrounded them. I couldn't hear anything else but that howl anymore. The air thick like water, my breath caught in my throat, I started to panic as I tried to control my breathing. Where was my dad? I looked to my side, squinting in the dark for any shape resembling a person. The vague silhouette of the truck wavered as I tried to steady myself.

Wait, wasn't it noon?

It felt like my bones were made of lead as I tried again to aim at the approaching figures. My hands gripped the forestock like it was the only thing keeping me standing. I thought I heard someone yelling from behind me, but everything was lost in the crushing roar of sound. Kyle and Jared were nowhere to be seen.

Something wet and cold streaked down my cheeks. I didn't dare try to wipe it off, my hands trembling and glued to my only form of defense. My head felt like it would explode from the pressure that was building in my skull. I could only see blurry shapes in the darkness, pools of black that towered over me.

How long has it been? How much longer? Am I even still fucking alive?

I began to lose hold of rational thought as the cacophonous howl burrowed into my skull.

Something ran out ahead of me. I couldn’t tell what, my vision was all but gone. The figure, probably a person, moved towards the pitch-black figures, which were now almost all-encompassing. In just a moment, the darkness swallowed up the figure as I felt a sickening crunch resonate in my body.

It was less than a second later when all I could see was black.

And for a moment, that's all there was.

Then the white hot pain of every single bone in my body shattering suddenly struck me. I felt my features fracture and compress under an enormous weight.

My own bones splintered and pierced my skin from within until I was too far away from the shape of a person to feel anything anymore.

Yet, I still felt the absolute cold of nothingness.

I still bore the emptiness of being hollow.

I endured the pressure in my mind.

Just barely, I still felt like a person, somehow.

I? Me? I'm...

The darkness of losing consciousness had never been so comforting.