The Hunt Begins

The sun bled into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of fire and dusk. Yuccavale had grown quieter in the past few weeks, but Barry knew better than to trust the silence. It wasn't peace—it was the kind of stillness that came before a storm.

And now, the storm had arrived. He stood on the porch of the sheriff's office, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, the last drag bitter on his tongue. Across the town square, soldiers in black-and-gray uniforms moved with precision, their rifles strapped tight to their backs. The Capitol Patrol Guard had arrived like a vulture circling a dying beast.Their leader, Captain Helena Stone, was unmistakable.

She moved with a rigid confidence, her silver-streaked hair tied back in a tight braid, her expression carved from cold steel. Even from a distance, Barry could see the way she studied the town—measured, calculating, hunting.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. The door creaked open behind him.

Samuel Holt, young, eager, and still too naïve for his own good, stepped onto the porch, arms crossed. "You hear the news yet?" Barry didn't look at him. He already knew the news. He had known the second those patrolmen set foot in Yuccavale.

"They're here because of the cattle," Samuel continued. "They think it's mutant activity."

Barry exhaled sharply. "You don't say."Samuel shifted, lowering his voice. "You don't think… they're here for you, do you?"

Barry didn't answer. Because the truth was, he wasn't sure. And that scared the hell out of him.

That night, Barry rode alone. The village lights faded behind him as he entered the forest, the cool night air carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Every step of his horse echoed through the trees, each rustle in the underbrush putting his nerves on edge.

The Capitol Patrol Guard had been in Yuccavale for less than a day, and he was already feeling hunted. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him. It was a scent at first.

Familiar. Faint. Wrong. Then, a whisper in the wind—so low it might have been his imagination.

"… Sheriff."

Barry stiffened. His hand went to his revolver, fingers brushing the worn leather of the holster. The horse shifted uneasily beneath him. He wasn't alone.A figure emerged from the darkness ahead, standing in the middle of the trail. Tall, lean, dressed in tattered black. The man's face was mostly hidden beneath the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, but the grin—that damn grin—flashed like a blade in the moonlight.

"Been a while, hasn't it?" the stranger drawled.

Barry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.That voice. That smell.This man wasn't a stranger.He was a ghost.

"Fletcher," Barry muttered.

Fletcher chuckled, tilting his head like a wolf studying wounded prey. "Didn't think I'd ever see you playin' lawman. 'Sheriff Barry'—now that's rich."Barry's grip on his revolver tightened. "What the hell do you want?"

Fletcher took a slow step forward. "Oh, you already know, Calendar."

The name hit him like a knife to the ribs.

Barry's chest tightened. His breathing slowed. He forced himself to stay still, to keep the beast inside from reacting. No one in Yuccavale knew who he was. No one had said that name in years.

But Fletcher had. And that meant one thing.

His past had finally caught up to him. Barry's jaw clenched. "I don't go by that name anymore."

Fletcher's grin widened. "No? Then tell me, Sheriff, what're you gonna do when they figure out what you are?" He gestured lazily toward the town. "You think the good folk of Yuccavale will still call you lawman when they see the monster underneath?"

Barry's pulse thundered in his ears.

Fletcher took another step closer, his voice low, taunting."You can pretend all you want, Calendar, but a wolf don't change. It just waits."

Barry's fingers twitched. The urge to draw his gun, to silence that voice forever, burned in his gut. But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Not here. Not now.

Not when the Capitol Patrol Guard was watching. Fletcher gave him one last smirk, then stepped back, melting into the darkness of the trees."See you real soon, Sheriff."

Then he was gone. Barry stayed there, his breath slow and controlled, his body rigid. He turned his gaze toward the town in the distance, where the CPG's torches burned bright against the night.

Fletcher knew who he was. And now, the only question left was—Who else did?Barry stood frozen, staring into the void where Fletcher had disappeared. The bastard had always been good at vanishing, slipping through the cracks like a shadow with a heartbeat.

But the scent lingered. It clung to the trees, to the damp earth beneath his boots—blood, smoke, and something ancient, something feral. Barry took a slow breath, steadying himself. He forced his fingers to unclench from the revolver grip. He couldn't afford to let this shake him. Not here. Not now.

He turned his horse back toward town, but the woods suddenly felt smaller, the trees pressing too close. He'd always known his past would catch up to him one day.That day was today.

A Town on Edge. By the time Barry returned to Yuccavale, the village was alive with quiet tension. The Capitol Patrol Guard had wasted no time making their presence known.

Metal barricades lined the main roads. Patrolmen stood in tight formations, rifles slung across their backs, their eyes sharp and untrusting. A temporary command post had been erected near the town hall, its crimson banners bearing the insignia of the Edenian Capitol—a reminder that Yuccavale was no longer just a quiet village in the woods.

It was a hunting ground.

And Barry was the prey.

Samuel was waiting for him near the sheriff's office, arms crossed. His face was tight with unease. "They've been asking questions," he muttered as Barry dismounted. "About the cattle. The tracks. If we've seen anything unusual."

Barry gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "And?"

"I told them the truth." Sam hesitated. "That we don't know a damn thing."

Barry exhaled through his nose. "Good."

Samuel watched him carefully. "They're setting up for the long haul, Barry. This isn't just some routine patrol. They're here to find something."

Barry met his deputy's gaze. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know."

He could feel the weight of Samuel's next question before the kid even spoke. Do you think they're after you? But Samuel didn't say it.

And Barry didn't answer.

Instead, he turned his attention to the Capitol Patrol Guard. Captain Helena Stone stood at the center of it all, giving orders in clipped, precise tones. She was everything he expected—rigid posture, cold eyes, a face carved from discipline and war. But there was something more in the way she moved.

She wasn't here to chase shadows. She was here because she smelled blood. Barry forced himself to move, walking past the patrolmen, nodding at the ones who acknowledged him. He kept his posture easy, his expression calm.

He had been running from hunters his whole life. If they were coming for him, they wouldn't see him flinch

That night, Barry couldn't sleep. He sat at his desk in the dim glow of the lantern, staring at the papers spread before him. Crime reports. Patrol schedules. Maps of the outskirts. Anything to keep his mind from spiraling.But Fletcher's voice echoed in his head.

"You can pretend all you want, Calendar, but a wolf don't change. It just waits."

Barry clenched his jaw, pressing his fingers against his temple. Fletcher was dangerous. Always had been. The kind of man who knew how to push buttons, how to twist a knife so deep you stopped realizing you were bleeding.

And he had used that name, Calendar. Barry had spent years burying that part of himself. He had built a life here, brick by brick, clawing his way toward something better.

But the past didn't stay buried. And Fletcher had just dug up the corpse. A sharp knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts. Barry's pulse jumped. Too late for visitors. Too late for comfort.

He grabbed his revolver before he even reached the door. His fingers were steady. His breath, even. But his gut told him that whatever was on the other side wasn't good.

He cracked the door open. Lillian Hughes stood on his porch, arms wrapped around herself, the lantern light casting deep shadows across her face.

"Barry," she said quietly. "We need to talk."His stomach twisted. Of course we do. The Truth That Burns. Lillian stepped inside, her boots tapping softly against the wooden floor. She looked at the mess of papers on his desk but didn't comment. Instead, she turned to face him, her green eyes sharp, searching."You're hiding something."

Barry sighed. "Lillian—""I've seen the way you've been acting." Her voice was quiet but firm. "Since that night. Since the attack."

Barry stayed silent.

Lillian stepped closer. "And now the CPG is here. And you're still pretending nothing's wrong.

Barry met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

Silence.

The kind that stretched too long, too tight. Barry could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest.

If he told her the truth—who he really was, what he had done—she would never look at him the same way again.

She would see the monster.

And yet, some part of him wanted to let her.Some part of him was so goddamn tired of hiding.

But before he could say anything, before the words could even form—A scream tore through the night.

Barry's blood ran cold.Lillian turned toward the window, eyes wide.Another scream. This one more desperate.

And then—the gunfire.

Barry didn't think. He moved.

Snatching his revolver, he bolted toward the door, the sound of chaos splitting the night apart. The Capitol Patrol Guard was already mobilizing. Their torches flared in the distance, lighting up the outskirts of town.

Samuel was running toward him."Barry!" he shouted, breathless. "It's happening again!"

Barry's heart pounded. He knew what Samuel meant. Another attack. Another slaughter.

And somewhere in the dark, Fletcher was watching.

Smiling.

Waiting.

Barry gritted his teeth and ran toward the screams, knowing full well that whatever waited for him in the dark… It wasn't going to let him walk away clean. The first scream cut through the night like a blade to the bone.

Barry's gut twisted. It wasn't just fear—it was recognition. The kind of scream that carried terror deep in its marrow. The kind he used to hear before he made his kills. Then came the second scream. Higher. Desperate.

Barry was already moving. His revolver felt heavier in his grip, as if it knew what was coming. He sprinted across the town square, the chill in the air sharp enough to sting his skin.

Torches flared in the distance. Shadows shifted behind the Capitol Patrol Guard's barricades. Soldiers shouted orders, their rifles raised as they stormed toward the outskirts. Samuel came barreling toward him, breathless. Panicked.

"Barry! It's happening again!"

Again.The word hit like a hammer to the ribs.Barry shoved past Samuel, his long strides eating up the distance. He could hear the frenzied barking of dogs, the terrified brays of horses still tied to their posts.

And beneath it all, something worse. A wet, tearing sound.The unmistakable sound of flesh being ripped from bone. Barry skidded to a halt at the edge of the treeline. The acrid scent of blood was already thick in the air, hot and metallic, crawling down his throat like a living thing.

The Capitol Patrol Guard had beaten him there. They were spread out, rifles trained on something hunched over in the dirt.

Something big.

Barry took a slow step forward. The creature crouched over its victim, its body shrouded in shifting shadows, tendrils of black mist writhing off its flesh. The torches barely illuminated it, as if the darkness around it was swallowing the light whole.

Its head snapped up. Barry felt his stomach drop.The thing wasn't just feeding. It was smiling. A mouth too wide. Teeth too long. Eyes like empty pits. Then it moved.

Fast.

A blur of hunger and teeth.

The nearest patrolman didn't even have time to scream before the creature's claws tore through his chest.His body hit the ground in two pieces.

Gunfire erupted.

Barry ducked as bullets ripped through the trees. The beast didn't slow. It laughed. A horrible, breathless sound—like something that had learned to mimic human voices but didn't quite understand how.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.A black smear vanishing into the trees.

Silence.

The patrolmen were frozen, their rifles still aimed at the darkness. The smell of blood soaked the earth. Captain Helena Stone stood among them, her eyes sharp, unreadable.

She turned to Barry."What the hell was that?"

Barry swallowed hard. He didn't have an answer. Because in all the years he had hunted, in all the horrors he had seen—That wasn't a werewolf.

That wasn't one of his kind.And yet, it had looked at him like it knew exactly who he was. Like it was waiting.

Watching.

Hunting.

For him. Something Worse Than Monsters.

Barry didn't sleep that night.Not because of the attack. Not because of the blood. Because of what he had seen in that thing's eyes. Recognition. Not of Barry the sheriff. Not of Barry the man.

But of The Calendar.

He sat at his desk, fingers pressed against his temples, trying to keep the memories from bleeding through. Blood on the walls. The sound of bones snapping under his grip.

His own voice, whispering numbers under his breath. One. Two. Three. Four…No. No. That was the past. He was done with that. But that thing—that thing knew. And worse?Somewhere deep in his bones, in the part of him he kept locked away… He knew it, too.