GTAG Chapter 68: A Big Slap
With explosive, frog-like bursts of speed, Hunters could close the distance in tight spaces, slashing at humans with their claws to wound or kill.
As creations of the T-virus, their claws carried infection. A mere scratch was enough to doom a victim. Without the vaccine, death was inevitable.
Though their skin wasn't as tough as the Tyrants, ordinary small-caliber pistols could rarely put them down unless the same spot was hit repeatedly.
Designed to survive initial gunfire, close the gap, and finish their prey, Hunters were devastating bioweapons.
Even if they failed to kill outright, a minor wound was enough to bring far greater troubles later.
In the early years, they were favorites of many organizations and Umbrella's best-selling weapon.
Even now, Hunters hadn't been retired.
But when Umbrella released both Hunters and Tyrants to capture the newly emerged mutants, something unexpected happened.
The Hunters and Tyrants turned on each other.
Neither was mindless like zombies. They possessed a faint, rudimentary intelligence—enough to form basic will.
And as it turned out, they despised each other.
Umbrella had never before deployed them together. No mission had ever required it. Only now did they discover this buried flaw.
Across bases where both were unleashed, chaos erupted. Tyrants and Hunters clashed, tearing each other apart.
The result was simple: the Tyrants annihilated the Hunters.
Umbrella suffered heavy losses.
Each mutant had been targeted with three Tyrants and ten Hunters. Dozens of Hunters were wiped out in the infighting.
If Umbrella hadn't caught on quickly, the losses would have been far worse.
Still, they could not abandon the mission.
They shifted tactics. First release the Hunters as fodder to exhaust the mutants. Once the Hunters were slaughtered, the Tyrants would move in to finish the job.
With the plan decided, operations continued in unaffected bases.
Hank, one of the marked targets, soon faced the Hunters.
After the fall of his base, he never returned. Instead, he pushed deeper into the mountains, because the outskirts had been stripped of animals by his hunts.
With abundant food, his mutation worsened.
In just a few days, scales covered his entire body. His teeth fell out and regrew into jagged, saw-like fangs sharp enough to crush bone.
From then on, he devoured bones along with flesh.
He noticed he had grown taller too. The great axe that once towered over him now matched his height.
More unsettling was the constant itch along his back, as if something were about to grow there.
His transformation never ceased. Yet Hank wasn't surprised.
From the first scales on his arms, he had prepared himself.
He didn't resist it. He was still sane, still himself, not a zombie. That was enough.
His only regret was one he muttered bitterly: he probably couldn't enjoy women anymore.
When he finished the last of his meat and prepared to leave his crude wooden hut for another hunt, the heavy chop of rotors reached his ears.
Helicopters.
Hank frowned. The timing was too suspicious.
Helicopters hadn't come when the base was falling. Only now, when he had become a monster, did they arrive deep in the mountains.
He didn't need to guess. They had come for him.
The government hadn't saved anyone before. Now that he was "special," they came with soldiers.
Scoffing, Hank seized his axe and sprinted into the dense forest.
Days of wild living had attuned him to the terrain. This time, he ran deeper, into untouched primeval jungle where no human had ever set foot.
Only the dense canopy could shield him from aerial pursuit.
It was the right choice. But he didn't know that soon after he left, a pack of frog-like creatures arrived at his hut. Using his lingering scent, they began their hunt.
Hank ran all day without rest. By nightfall, he finally slowed.
Moonlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves. He sighed in relief.
He had changed directions so many times, even he wasn't sure where he was. There was no way they could track him.
Exhaustion from running and constant vigilance weighed heavily.
Confident that nothing in the forest could threaten him, Hank collapsed beneath a tree, clutching his axe, and fell into a half-sleep.
Midnight.
Hank's eyes snapped open.
Something was approaching.
And in the quiet, they had encircled him completely.
Though he didn't feel danger from them, an ominous instinct pressed into his chest.
This time, escape would not be so simple.
He didn't wait. Gripping his axe, he charged in a random direction.
The circle of creatures stirred, then fell silent again.
Not far ahead, hidden in the foliage, Hank spotted one of the frog-like Hunters.
It hissed.
Exposed, the Hunter's muscles bunched, and in an explosive leap it landed before Hank.
Snap!
Its claw swung down at his face, striking hard.
But the absurd happened: Hank's head turned slightly under the blow, while the Hunter's claw shattered against the armor of his scales.
Hank: "..."
Hunter: "..."
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