While the ladies were undergoing surgery, Nox’s black day became his black days as one day stretched into two. Samson prevented him from bathing, claiming it would ‘contaminate’ the water supply. But towels and plastic sheets covering an inflatable mattress weren’t enough, and around noon on the second day, Samson produced a bobcat. Using the pocked sized vehicle to dig a trench behind the ‘hospital’. In truth the ‘hospital’ was an obscene mockery of healthcare, being entirely one level and made up of various shipping containers, sterile stainless steel buildings that were prefabricated and manufactured by the lowest bidder.
Though Nox appreciated having them at all, he’d heard stories from Jesus about the early days of hunting, when ten hunters shared a single on base nurse, and they were mixed in with the general military. In theory it was fine, but so many hunters were women that issues quickly arose. Even the –mostly– innocent issues of homo venatorus women trying to make out and accidentally breaking a soldier’s hips became national headlines.
And there were the less innocent issues, where squads of soldiers attempted to coerce –gangrape– hunters and were murdered by the dozens. Without a right to trial the hunters who defended themselves were courtmarshaled, convicted and reassigned to the penal legion in the space of a day. Penalties that no one approved of. Yet, Homo Sapiens needed the hunters, they couldn’t waste Venatorus lives on something as trivial as justice.
These stories flashed through Nox’s mind as Samson dug a trench next to the hospital pods, wondering if the seemingly pleasant nurse had more sinister intentions. The trench was roughly eight feet long, but only three feet deep, making it a very shallow grave.
His concern only grew when Samson ordered twenty armed soldiers, rangers as well as army grunts to the hospital pod, stationing them at every hallway, entrance, and near the trench. Their tactical plate carriers –modern body armor covered in magazine pouches– glowed a gentle blue. Evidence of mana crystal munitions, bullets that were somewhat effective against monsters, and extremely effective against hunters.
Samson opened the sauna door, waving his hand to clear the steam.
“Alright kid, I’m tired of doing your stanky-ass laundry. Sorry bout this, but cmon.” Said Samson.
Is he gonna shoot me in the head and bury me? Ah… Crap… Well… I knew I was going to end up fighting the minotaur again, no sense in dragging my feet…
“Alright.” Said Nox, dropping a black goo-soaked towel to the floor and unsticking himself from the sauna bench.
His swim trunks squelched free, and the ichor-covered-Nox squelched out of the sauna. Feet sticking to the stainless steel floor on his way out, Samson led him to the trench, and a soldier gestured for him to get in.
“Get in, but stand near the front of the trench and close your eyes.” The RealcamoTM wearing soldier said.
Nox obeyed, putting his feet at the near end of the trench and shut his eyes. If they shot him in the back of the head now, he would fall forward, neatly landing inside the trench. He tried to relax, but shivers of his prior deaths haunted his consciousness, right up until a freezing liquid sprayed across his back.
“Sorry if it’s cold, but you’re using more towels than we’ve got.” Said Samson, spraying Nox down with a hose.
Lukewarm water –practically freezing after the sauna’s heat– flowed across Nox’s bald head and shoulders. “Catch.” Said the nearest soldier, tossing Nox a towel.
Great, I'm in the ghetto shower with three other dudes…
“Get scrubbin! And keep your mouth shut, this is from the gray-water system.” Shouted Samson.
That got Nox moving. As disgusting and awful as the black-skin-urine was, the thought of bathing in someone else’s shower water made his skin crawl. While sapien doctors and engineers claimed modern gray-water systems were perfectly sanitary, Nox had his doubts. No amount of ultraviolet diodes or ‘filtering’ tanks would convince him that the water was ‘fine’. The fact that they instructed him to keep his mouth shut did more to confirm his suspicions than any amount of doctor’s notes could dissuade. Just another ‘perk’ of being a homo venatorus and living in a hunting camp.
To avoid ‘accidents’, hunting camps were often located in out of the way areas, isolated farmlands or restricted zones on military bases. Their isolation meant fresh water often had to be rationed, there were no pools, and showers were often limited. With gray-water systems being utilized to recycle some of the water and reduce the number of septic trucks needed to support the hunters. Of course, these were ‘temporary measures’ or governmental quick fixes that would only last until wells could be dug and pumps installed. Plans which were scheduled to be completed six years ago, and were now rescheduled to be completed five years from now.
When they’d sprayed and scrubbed away most of the sludge, Nox felt like a brand new man. Bald and dripping, he was marched back to the sauna, where Samson handed him an Mbar.
“What’s this for?” Asked Nox, giving him a confused look.
“Use that to scrape the goo off, then wipe it on a towel. I wasn’t foolin around when I said we was runnin out of towels!” Answered Samson, putting on latex gloves before retrieving the used towels and throwing them into a bag that was marked “BIOHAZARDOUS WASTE”.
A few hours into Nox’s cycle of sauna scrapping and hose-showers, a short man with a white labcoat entered the sauna. His nametag said “Dr. Hooker”, a name that suited his book nose and beady eyes.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Oh my,” He said, looking up and down Nox. “Do you mind if I take pictures?”
Dr. Hooker wants to take pictures in the sauna… Am I tripping balls? I’ve been drinking water every half hour so I don’t think i’m dehydrated–
“Ahem,” Began Dr. Hooker, beginning to clarify his intentions. “What I mean, is that you are an extremely visual example of what a black day looks like, in fact, I can think of only two examples more visually striking than yourself. Though both hunters activated hardened skin talents. Would you mind if I took a sample?”
“Knock yourself out.” Said Nox, offering him an arm.
It wasn’t like a hunter would be allowed to refuse. Sure, the doctors were polite, but both staff and hunters knew a sample request, regardless of what it was for, blood, urine, semen, mammogram, pap smear, etc, wasn’t optional. Dr. Hooker produced a case from inside his labcoat with several capped test tubes and a stainless steel version of a painting knife. He used the later implement to scrape wads of the black sweat into the tubes which were then capped and labeled with numbers and locations, ie sample 1, left arm, sample 2 left thigh. As far as experiments went, Nox preferred this to the endless blood draws he had been subjected to previously.
Being a lab rat was part of being a Homo Venatorus. Dr. Hooker poked and prodded the black goo on every one of Nox’s appendages, taking depth measurements as well as scraping an area clean then timing how long it took to become covered with black sweat again. There was a world of difference between the two men, Nox was an enslaved warrior, while Dr. Hooker’s silver watch had the word “Rolex” emblazoned across it. Hooker was getting paid to poke and prod, while Nox was trying to avoid punishment. An hour of poking, scraping, timing, and photography later, Samson hosed Nox off once more and Dr. Hooker strolled off, promising to “See more of him later.”
“You’re taking this all pretty well for a newly activated Venator–” Said Samson, interrupted by a buzzing fly.
“Venator? Man, that’s a way better name for hunters than homo venatorus. But yeah, I’m used to the doctors. I was the only” Nox held up both hands to form ‘air quotes’ with his fingers “Homo Sapien in the family.”
“Ack- Hey, Nox.” Said Samson, leaning in so only the nearby armed guards could hear them. “Don’t start calling yourself a Venator, I just stuttered. Wasn’t nothing more. Forget you ever heard Venator. The only sanctioned term is Homo Venatorus, You hear me?” Growled Samson, voice becoming low and hurried.
As if Samson was scared of something…
“Uh sure, Homo Venatorus, I never heard anything else.” Said Nox.
A distinct click behind him warned of a rifle safety changing positions, and Nox swallowed feeling of standing on an anti-tank land mine. Samson leaned back, beckoning Nox back into the sauna. Since no bullet landed in his back, Nox assumed the guards had turned their safeties on, not off, a strange choice. And one that made him wonder what the significance of ‘Venator” was. Samson paused in front of the sauna door and spoke again, loud enough to be overheard.
“Start doing push ups while you’re sweating, our local E-gate is reopening. Should be a good first test for you.” Said Samson.
“Oh… Uhm, sure. Can you send the wire rat in a bit deeper this time?” Asked Nox.
By local E-gate, Samson meant the gate that often appeared a mile downwind of the hunting base. For inexplicable reasons certain gates reappeared at semi-regular intervals, such gates were valuable ‘farmlands’ producing a repeatable dungeon to train new hunters or harvest materials, especially mana crystals. Which was why this particular hunting camp was located on a seemingly backwoods hill in the Sequoia National Forest of California. The regular gate was an E ranked mana crystal mine, where low grade crystals were protected by little more than zombies and walking skeletons.
“Kid, I don’t steer wire rats, ask the rangers at the gate.” Said Samson.
“No chance I can sit this one out?” Asked Nox.
Due to the black days, he hadn’t had a chance to procure more C4, or try and figure out what a [Persean core] was. The feline dopple was also tantalizing his imagination. Dopplegangers were shapeshiters who assumed the identity of something, they had no form by themselves. So how a feline dopple’s DNA might have gotten into his blood was troubling.
“No can do, Nora and– ahem.” Samson cleared his throat. “We’ve lost too many hunters, if you drop it’ll be down to Ashley and Mary-sue. We’re sending the rangers in with them, but…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. No matter how competent humans were, mana saturation would quickly become toxic, teams would be rotated in and out, but dungeons seemed designed to kill humans. Even the regular gates often had areas that would allow you to pass into them, but not escape until a monster was defeated or a task was accomplished. Nox’s eyes wandered over the nearest guard, noticing the Ranger tab on his uniform. Their mana crystal bullets weren’t for Nox, they were for the upcoming gate.
“I get it. I’ll be there.” Said Nox.
“Thanks.” Muttered Samson, leaving the sauna.
Nox spent the next twenty four hours doing a rotation of one hundred pushups, one hundred squats, and one hundred sit ups, get hosed off, then repeat. Only taking two breaks, once when Ashley brought him lunch, and once to sleep. Though he had to wear a snorkel-like contraption throughout his slumber, since his black day continued into the night. When he finally awoke from the fitful sleep he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Worse still, when he tried to roll out of bed, his arms wouldn’t move, glued in place by eight hours of the foul scented excretions. The snorkel remained anchored until Nox spat and splurted it free.
“Fwp ptwa! Nnnnggggg. This can’t be real.” He muttered, catching the attention of Elizabeth and Ashley.
They were part of a fortunate few hunters, who’d been assigned to live in the same camp and the same TEMPER unit, a sort of temporary –but effectively permanent– tent with plastic walls and windows that unzipped. It housed four people within its thirty foot wide by thirty foot long single room, Nox, Ashley, Elizabeth, and after their father had gone missing Nora.
Ashley loomed over him, mischief written in her bold eyes. “You look like someone covered you in a pimple mask!”
“Shuddup and help me!” Snapped Nox.
“Hehe, okay.” Said Ashley, reaching for the edges of the plastic sheet.
Nox knew something was up by the way she giggled, and should have guessed what was coming after she threw the sheet corner at his leg. Two freed corners later and it was too late, the plastic sheet was wrapped around Nox, giving the impression of a black marshmallow wrapped in a white sheet. As horrific as casper the friendly ghost wearing black-face.
“You look like BO flavored Nuttella in a crepe!” Laughed Ashley, taking hold of the sheet and dragging Nox towards the door.
There was only one room in the TEMPER unit, and they passed by their inflatable mattresses and the kitchenette where they cooked most meals. Before he could stop her, Ashley dragged him backwards out the door, leading to the most unique, and embarrassing walk of shame he would ever endure. There were six nearby TEMPER tents, all of them occupied by at least one rubbernecking hunter or ranger. A few gawked, while others chuckled at Nox’s peculiar black day, though there was surprisingly little catcalling.
“Alright boys, Lima bean here inked the bed, guess he was dreaming of squid-girls or octopussy. Can you hose him off?” Asked Ashley, talking to the two rangers standing guard near the trench.
Their jawlines hardened, trying not to laugh at the saddest excuse of a hunter they had ever seen. Without answering directly they hosed Nox down, though it took Ashley returning with an Mbar to scrape Nox free of the black paste. It had partially hardened overnight, and was now the consistency of peanut butter –sans all hydrogenated oils– somehow making it chalky, chunky, and pastey all at once.
They spent an hour scraping him free, noticing to all their relief that no additional black day excretions were forthcoming. Nox ran his fingers over his skin, appreciating the thin salty water of actual sweat.
“Is it really over?” Asked Nox.
“Nope!” Said Ashley, “The vultures show up now.”
As if on cue, Dr. Hooker cleared his throat. “I can wait for you to shower properly and get dressed. Then we’ll start our protocols.”