Vicki sat up and opened her eyes, the familiar red leather of the Den’s folding bed below her, and an arm draped over her waist. She sighed with relief, exactly where she wanted and expected to be for once.

  “You okay?” Gizzy asked, as Vicki counted her 5 intact fingers on each hand.

  “Yea…fine actually. I just had kind of a bad dream… again.”

  “Kind of?” Gizzy asked.

  “Well I’m used to nightmares at this point, I’m just not used to having one monster chase me down and then end up next to a monster I don’t wanna run from." She smiled back.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. I had a rather odd dream too. Started bad, then it took a slight twist in my favor.” She pondered with a puzzled scrunch to her nose.

  “I’m just glad my nightmare ended more pleasantly. They usually end in me waking up to Jack dead and me covered in blood.” She said, noticing her jaw felt slightly stiff and sore.

  “Well my battle took several interesting turns even after waking up.” Gizzy smiled.

  “I tried to fucking bite you didn’t I?” she sighed in embarrassment and horror.

  “You successfully bit me, you just didn’t break the skin. I’m a tougher cut of meat than you’re used to. Better get used to that. I’m not exactly a tender piece.” She said as the word Tender ran cold in Vicki’s veins, remembering the same word in Kraken’s and/or Hyde’s voice, and feeling confused about it.

  “What the hell happened?” Vicki asked.

  “Well, most people call it sex, or sleeping together, depending on when you directed the question, how literal and how polite.”

  “I mean the…nightmares we both had. Is that a side effect of the implants?”

  “No, that’s just expected for two people who’ve been through hell together and had the memory wiped and apparently regenerated in fragments. You must be new to this, but I’ve seen enough hell over enough millennia that honestly that was pretty normal. Having fucked up dreams is normal, the sex was exceptional. Even the…unorthodox foreplay.” Gizzy said with a squint, as if testing her on whether that was just part of the dream. Her confused look didn’t clarify.

  “Let’s just say what happened was very satisfying and worth repeating, and I’m honestly just glad to wake up to a lover still breathing, even if it is oddly slow and hot enough air to be borderline painful.”

  “Perils of being the small spoon in front of a fire breathing big spoon. Now you see why my ancestors built up such a reputation or that.” Gizzy grinned almost proudly as an alert message appeared on the main screen. 3R’s robotic voice clarified the screen’s image.

  “Chaos imbalance detected, mission plan in progress.”

  Gizzy grabbed a gun off the rack and placed it on the table as Vicki looked baffled by the size.

  “I’m supposed to lug THAT around? A 4 foot anti…bunker rifle?”

  “Oh good lord it’s not that powerful. This is the CharTac Series rifle with the 625 whisper barrel. It’s the most powerful subsonic sniper rifle in existence as far as I know. The rifle platform can use interchangeable barrels, to adjust it to any of about 12 custom calibers. Everything from a standard 50BMG, to a 1.18 inch round I call the 1.1HATE. Your target is apparently pretty hearty and good at tracking prey, so a silent gun with the power of a 50BMG is necessary.

  “I’m not a sniper, why am I going alone?” Vicki asked, as the ship prepped the drop pod.

  “Apparently this thing has thermal vision and can smell radiation, so a nuclear bitch who runs hot on an ice planet is a road flair on a dark road to this thing, but since your body temperature runs under 80 degrees you should be almost invisible. Now the recoil will be significant even with a subsonic. This is a full 13,000ftlb plastic explosive casing, it’s only subsonic because it’s a 5,000 grain tungsten alloy projectile. You’re throwing over 12 ounces of metal per trigger pull so even with the suppressor and your vampire durability your tiny ass is gonna move with that kickback.”

  “You didn’t mind the kickback when my tiny ass was moving last night.” Vicki smirked.

  “I didn’t say a tiny ass was a bad thing, or that yours was anything shy of glorious, but shape and quality has no advantage in physics when dealing with recoil. Mass is an advantage. You fire that standing up, you’re gonna be reloading it lying down on that ass, so just start lying down there before you fire it.

  “Jesus…this is the bullet, you’re sure I’m not hunting another vampire with this damn 1 pound silver stake launcher?”

  “More yeti than vampire, I’m told. I’ll be watching you from the ship, so don’t feel like you’re alone down there. 3R will provide a winter survival pack and air drop you into the safe zone. It’s not gonna be the safe zone very long. Oh, now you’re smiling. Why are you suddenly smiling?” Gizzy asked.

  “Be the first time I’ve been the hunter instead of the prey for a while and actually carrying a big enough gun to fight back. Maybe my nightmares will take a turn in my favor if I get to be the one stalking this time.” Vicki beamed.

  “Honey, everything we hunt, hunts you back. You’re only the hunter if you’re winning. It’s never too late to change roles if you fuck up.”

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  “You called me Honey.” She smirked, racking the giant bolt back and forward.

  “Sorry, old habit.”

  “No…it’s fine. I’ll see you later. Honey.” Vicki joked.

  “Spare magazines. Don’t forget which ones you’re loading. It’s a bolt action gun designed to use the same bolt for multiple calibers and different drop-in barrels, so just make sure your barrel and magazine match before you shoot." She said, as Vicki reached up and pulled her down by the shirt collar for a goodbye kiss. Suddenly the sparks and rush faded to white and the room felt very cold.

  Vicki gasped, sticking her head out of the snow and lugging her rifle out, blinding pale blue light and wind disorienting her, as she staggered and tried to grasp where she was, or WHO she was. A hand grabbed her shirt harness and yanked her to her feet, as a dark skinned man with a silky black ponytail practically dragged her along to the shelter. He pushed her forward as she grabbed the nearly invisible white and silvery metal rails and began climbing the observation tower stairs, the cold biting her exposed face and her goggles so fogged she could barely see her own gloves in front of her. The rush of cold air died down as the door shut and latched, and the man shook off the snow.

  “My dear, you must have a death wish dropping in like that.” He said, adjusting his gold rimmed glasses, the lenses looking slightly green before they clearly became black, like the frames were. Vicki blinked in confusion.

  “Where Am I? Who…am I?” she asked.

  “Concussion, probably from the landing. Luckily, I’m a very skilled surgeon, and a damn decent field medic. Victor Dimitri. You are lucky to be alive after that parachute improperly opened. Your nametag says Vicki. Lovely name, lovely eyes, they seem to be dilating properly, that’s a good sign. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen red pupils before.” He smiled.

  “Aren’t…yours red? And wasn’t your hair longer a moment ago?”

  “Persian Gold.” He said, lowering his glasses. “Always have been that color. You do still seem to be fading back into consciousness, it may take some time to regain your senses, but as far as I can tell you are fit for combat physically and mentally on the mend at an optimistic pace, amnesia aside. Your arm bands indicate mobile air sniper division, and the rifle would suggest that too. Here, you got the wrong magazine in that gun, and the wrong barrel. You’re not silently hunting an elephant, dear. You’re hunting The Omen. The only way to kill one is a shot to the heart with a round capable of punching through the toughest hide in the universe. Luckily, your general knew that, and packed you the gear for 430 CharTac. 404 grain titanium penetrators. Not quiet, but it won't matter if that slow fat round you have loaded just bounces off.”

  Gizzy sat in the den as the lights went red, looking up, she noticed movement. Drawing her Yellowjacket set on Magforge dual 4.6mm, frangible cold.

  “Three R…are the life support sensors malfunctioning?”

  “They are not. However, unknown life forms can often be undetectable since the sensors do not know what life signs to look for. Movement scanners have detected unknown objects throughout the ship.”

  “How the hell did we get spacebugs?” Gizzy sighed, “Adjust scanners to movement only, and track all unidentified locks. How many and how big?”

  “Approximately 120, roughly 8 pounds each on average.”

  “Son of a bitch, print me one of the carbines.”

  “Your usual black and gold?”

  “Of course. I’ll take a left-handed Dealer, Vicki configuration 4.6mm over 560 caliber Blackjack, extended mag, gold and black color, remove the folding stock. I want my right handed Royal flush config, 4.6mm over 666 caliber BlackJack. There’s no telling how resilient they are. I want 2 mags of Jackal, and 3 mags of dragon’s breath for each, loaded in the gun.”

  “I suggest leading with the 4.6mm to reduce the possibility of damage to the ship.” 3R suggested.

  “Why do you think I didn’t lead with the grenade launchers?” She smirked.

  Vicki lay prone in the snow, slowly and quietly lowering the bolt on her rifle, scope set to zero at 1,000 yards. She pulled the trigger, the shock off the gun bouncing her back as she silently opened her mouth and whispered the word “Ow” to herself. Dimitri smirked and shook his head.

  “You’re not built for this kind of hunt, are you?”

  “Apparently not. I missed by…enough that I don’t know how much. I’ve never been a long-range gal. That was Jack’s specialty, quick and clean from a mile away."

  “Who’s Jack?” he asked. She puzzled a moment at the question.

  “I…don’t really know. Someone I cared about. I still don’t know who I am.”

  “Well, you’re a hunter, I can tell, just not a ranged one. I’m guessing you’re more versed in close quarters. Knives, handguns, but you definitely know how to use a rifle, just not at that range.”

  “Lying down feels foreign. I feel like the gun is too large, and I should be moving around corners, the magnification on the scope feels wrong. Maybe I was a different kind of soldier.”

  “Maybe you weren’t quite a soldier. More of a predator.” He smiled, as she stared back. His sly look intoxicating and frustrating like she wanted to attack the insult, but only if he wasn’t entirely correct. He seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

  “Do we know each other?” she asked.

  “We’ve met briefly in passing. Ships in the night, sharing a tangent port and exchanging looks before departing. A tragedy from my perspective. You say you lying down feels foreign, perhaps it’s just the waiting. I wager you have plenty of experience lying down, but none of it waiting for your target. I’m sure they waste no time finding you.” He said, lighting a pipe and looking longingly into the whiteout landscape.

  “If we barely met, and I don’t know you, that’s a very forward assumption.” She half-scolded, trying not to smile.

  “My dear, you are a vision, which even you cannot deny knowing, and though comfortable with a firearm and the idea of danger, you seem utterly lost and annoyed at being the one stalking. There’s no fear in you, no excitement in your eyes, but you stay on the scope, hoping for it to return. You prefer your prey to hunt you back. You prefer it to underestimate you, to think you are weak, so it will strike. That is either the confidence of someone who enjoys being the bait and knows they can handle the threat, or a fool’s impatience…and you do not seem like a fool, as you patiently wait for something. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I have no idea what I am talking about, and I shall simply remain quiet. Quietly doing nothing. Not observing, nor hunting, nor making my move to strike.” He said with a heavy pause. She lingered for that moment and resisted the temptation to strike, debating on weather confirming was a form of making the first move or merely increasing the danger.”

  “You’re right about some things, I’m not a ranged hunter. I like to get up close and personal. This little window from a mile away shit is boring, and there’s no danger way back here.”

  “There could be…if you were to leave your gun behind and let your guard down.” He hinted. She smirked a little.

  “How secluded is this little sniper nest? Is there any risk of anyone finding it or sneaking up on us?” she asked.

  “Unlikely. Not a soul for miles, dozens of these that go untouched for years hidden in the terrain. Safely high up and well camouflaged. The only possible threat would be from someone already up here, and fortunately it’s just us, locked from in the inside with a sturdy deadbolt. Leaving would be easy, someone getting in, not so much.”

  “I’m going upstairs to rest up. I think that knock on the head really drained me. Let me know if there’s anything dangerous to worry about, I’ll leave the door cracked open.” She said, her eyes lightly glowing red as her fangs slightly lengthened behind her closed lips. Dimitri watched her ascend the metal stairs oddly slow, noticing her pistol laying next to the rifle, unguarded.

  "And that, is how you lure in your prey." he whispered to himself, getting up to follow.