3. Hunted Hunters
Paul Street Intersection had once been a famous hotspot in Pramo—a district of theaters and department stores, rows of trinket shops and bars lining the sidewalks. Neon signs glittered every night, the streets packed with crowds—until the city lost its biggest event, the International Film Festival, to the neighboring district of Houston.
By the time the Hunters arrived on a tip-off around 10 p.m., an unfamiliar scene greeted them.
Aside from the flashy billboards and the revolving beams of light, there was only silence. The street was quiet, as if the people had evaporated all at once. The Hunters—many of them new to the area—wandered around in mild fascination, peering into empty shops. Some groups unfolded a map and debated where to set up.
Then, from far away, a single gunshot rang out.
Everyone stopped at once, heads tilting upward toward the direction of the sound. The shot faded, and several minutes of stillness followed. When nothing else came, they gathered their gear and dispersed into the darkness.
Anderson stood in front of a prize machine.
Figures, phones, earbuds, toy helicopters—among them, what caught his eye was a silver-plated Zippo lighter. He rummaged through his pocket, took out a few coins, and started the machine. There were only two buttons: one moved the rod up and down, the other left and right.
The game was simple. Aim at an item on one of the five shelves and push it back with a long rod until it fell off.
Aiming was easy.
But even when the rod shoved the prize all the way, it didn't drop.
[Gunshot]
A second shot cracked through the night. By now, only a handful remained near the entrance—Anderson among them. A lot of Hunters had swarmed in to take down the Madman, yet for some reason he didn't look impatient at all.
If anything, he looked like someone waiting for something—waiting for the right time.
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It didn't feel real.
That speed.
Five people were already dead right in front of him.
This was Jimmy's third job since becoming a Hunter. The first had been a sixty-something man who seized at an illegal card table on a ship. The second, a man in his forties who seized after a minor crash at a downtown intersection. Both were individually assigned, both ended so quickly they felt almost boring. The pay had been small too—barely enough for a night of drinks.
Jimmy had been waiting for a big one.
"Men in their twenties are dangerous."
Sid—on Jimmy's team—had said it on the way. Sid was a veteran, ten years deep into Hunter work. Jimmy hadn't taken the warning seriously. He'd assumed it was just the usual hazing older guys threw at rookies.
Besides, the app—Placebo (the application that posted Hunter jobs and pay)—had put a hefty reward on this case. If he cleared this one cleanly, he'd take a short vacation to a nearby resort.
And when he imagined bikini-clad women running along a blue beach, a grin spread across his face before he could stop it.
Even after they arrived and began searching the streets, he still felt good. An empty city center was an outlaw's paradise. You could walk into any store, touch whatever was on display, even open a package and eat.
Sure, there were CCTV cameras—touch something expensive and you'd get hit with a compensation claim—but no one cared about canned beer or peanut biscuits.
It was while he was lost in his lawless shopping spree that it happened.
Inside a back-alley shop beyond the cameras, he shrugged on a leather jacket, feeling his mood rise. He turned his head, about to ask a teammate if it suited him—
And his bright smile froze into something cold.
Right beside him stood a Madman, its eyes rolled white, lion-like fangs sunk into the throat of a young Hunter who had come with them. It tore, furious, as if feeding and raging were the same act.
Jimmy's body locked.
This was not the kind of Madman he'd seen before.
Tall. Dense muscle. Built like something bred to kill.
He understood it instantly: I can't take this alone.
The distance was too close to even draw his gun. If he so much as shifted his gaze, it felt like the thing would spring at him. The young Hunter's body trembled—still alive, somehow—but Jimmy couldn't find the courage to help him.
No—worse.
He found himself praying the Madman would stay fixated on the throat it was tearing, praying it wouldn't even realize Jimmy was there.
Only now, faced with the unexpected—and with his own helplessness—did he truly understand how dangerous this job was.
[Gunshot]
A shot came from far away. The Madman's shoulder jerked.
Jimmy turned toward the sound and saw a bald man in black sunglasses aiming a handgun straight at the creature.
A gust of wind—
and the huge body in front of Jimmy vanished like a fired arrow.
Jimmy spun, searching, and then spotted it above: a black shape clinging to the wall, crawling on all fours.
[Gunshot] [Gunshot]
The bald man fired several more rounds at the Madman on the wall, but the creature moved naturally, almost gracefully, bounding from wall to wall as it closed the distance.
Then it reached him.
It grabbed his head and tore it off.
Jimmy stared, mind blank, as if watching a scene from a movie—something too unreal to belong to his life. All he wanted was for the Madman not to notice him.
Outside, more gunshots erupted. The Madman turned toward the noise and disappeared.
"—Hhk!"
The breath Jimmy had been holding burst out of him all at once.
He couldn't stay here. The Madman would come back for their throats.
He had to get as far away as possible.
His legs shook as he forced himself upright, moving one slow step at a time. Somewhere in the distance, a scream rose—raw, as if a throat had been ripped from a hand. But he couldn't look back. If he did, it felt like the Madman would be there, rushing at him.
He began to walk faster.
Then he broke into a run.
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From the window of a five-story building, Seth rested his sniper rifle against his shoulder, sweeping the streets through a scope. Thirty minutes had passed since his partner, Prairie, went out to lure the Madman—and still Prairie hadn't returned.
Boredom seeped in.
As always, a sniper's work was like fishing: endless waiting, endless patience. Human focus was never infinite. If you poured your time and mind into watching emptiness—waiting for prey that might appear at any moment—anxiety and doubt crept in sooner or later.
What if someone else already got it?
What if they're out there enjoying a drive hunt without me?
If that's true, shouldn't I pack up right now and follow?
Doubt arrived in chains, accelerating time by making it heavier. In moments like this, you had to air out your head—let the minutes pass without clawing at them.
The building Seth had taken over was an open-plan office with no columns: a two-seat sofa, several work desks, and a cot behind a partition. In the dark, empty room, if something suddenly rushed in, the shock alone might stop his heart.
He'd chosen sniping because he wanted to stay as far from the Madman as possible—but he hadn't expected to endure this kind of eerie quiet. More than once, Seth had pictured a Madman silently approaching from behind, puncturing his neck with those sharp fangs.
"Too much imagination."
Prairie had smirked, tossing a dart at the board in the distance. He was proud of his courage—proud of being the bait. His lean, hardened body carried scratches and slashes here and there, and perhaps he didn't even realize he took a thrill from facing Madmen.
Seth sometimes found Prairie's orders irritating—yet when Prairie fought up close, there was something about his calm back that looked impressive even to another man.
[Gunshot]
Lost in thought, Seth heard Prairie's 9mm pistol pop in the distance—thin, sharp, always stinging the ears. Seth expected Prairie to burst out from the shadowed alley, sprinting hard, face lit with mischievous excitement as if to say, He's coming.
But this time, Prairie didn't appear.
Ten minutes passed.
The alley's darkness still did not spit Prairie back out.
Did he get too excited and start the work early?
Or…? No. That's impossible.
Prairie was quick—an agile gunner. No matter what kind of Madman it was, it shouldn't be able to suppress him that easily.
Seth's focus slid into impatience, and then into unease. Something about this job felt wrong. It was like the beer he always drank had turned bitter overnight.
Three hundred thousand dollars for one head. Split with Prairie, it was enough to live comfortably for a month without working. And strangely, the pay posted on Placebo always matched the difficulty with perfect accuracy—
as if someone were deliberately releasing Madmen.
Then, between the buildings, a small shape emerged—slowly.
It staggered out of the alley as if drenched in dark red liquid, moving with painful slowness.
Seth blinked hard, disbelieving.
It was Prairie.
His face was twisted in agony. One arm clutched the opposite shoulder as he stumbled forward. Even injured, Prairie would normally burst out and signal Seth.
But now he couldn't even keep his eyes fully open, and his sluggish movement looked dangerously exposed—like an invitation.
So where was the Madman?
Seth swept his muzzle around Prairie, searching.
Nothing.
A moment later, something huge stepped out of the black alley behind him.
It looked like a minotaur escaping a maze.
Even at a glance, the Madman's body dwarfed a normal man's frame. It felt less like a person and more like a massive beast. White breath steamed from its mouth as it approached Prairie, slow and certain.
This was bad.
Usually Prairie would disrupt the Madman while Seth lined up the shot. But now Seth had to kill it by sniping alone. Once someone turned into a Madman, hitting anywhere else did little—you had to take the head.
Not easy.
If he missed, his position would be exposed, and he'd have to move immediately. The Madman was fast.
One shot.
He had to drop it with one shot.
Seth stopped breathing and squeezed the trigger.
[Gunshot]
Did it work?
Seth pressed his eye harder to the scope.
The Madman's head dipped, but it didn't fall. Its legs remained planted, stubborn and upright.
Missed.
Then the creature lifted its head. Dark blood ran down the right side of its forehead. One eye seemed shut, but the other widened grotesquely—locking with Seth's gaze on the fifth floor.
The Madman's expression twisted with rage. It bared needle-like fangs.
It was a failure.
And his position was exposed.
Before he could think, fear shoved him down. He backed under the window, hiding with his spine against the wall. He'd had stray shots before, but had he ever held a Madman's eye for that long?
More than that—he couldn't erase the creature's warped expression from his mind.
What now?
Run?
Then what happens to Prairie?
Or maybe—maybe this was the chance. The Madman would assume Seth had fled. It would step in to finish Prairie, and in that gap Seth could take one more shot.
Jaw clenched, Seth gripped the rifle so hard his fingers trembled. He rose again and aimed out the window.
But the Madman was gone.
Prairie had already collapsed, face-down on the ground.
Where had it disappeared to?
Is it… coming for me? Into the building?
If so—where from? The left rear entrance? The front door?
Seth opened the window and leaned out, scanning desperately for any movement—
when a sick thought flicked across his mind, and he looked down.
Ah.
The Madman was already climbing the wall.
It reached him—
and tore Seth's head clean off.