This chapter was written by SebJenkins

Predictability was the downfall of even the mightiest warrior, and the daily evening curfew provided it in abundance. A herd of fleeing civilians shuffling their way out of bars, cafes and restaurants to beat the clock home, or face a hefty fine and a slap on the wrist. How hard the slap was depended on the mood of the particular police officer on patrol that night. A long shift with little action did wonders for the swing of their truncheon.

As the clock ticked up to five minutes before curfew, the stragglers hurried their way to their homes. This is where he thrived. These five minutes were his. Like a lion approaching a watering hole, knowing full well that isolated antelopes, buffalo, and zebras were in the offing, he skulked with inextinguishable confidence.

He wore the shadows like a coat, like an extension of his limbs and his being. He knew exactly where to step so as to make the least noise, exactly the route to take to maximise the opportunity for prey, and exactly how to bring them to their knees without so much as a flap of a butterfly's wing.

He was the shadows.

Dressed head to toe in coal black cotton, he pranced through the streets like a silhouette of danger, a camouflaged shark weaving through the calm waters.

Footsteps and chatter rattled in the distant night air, but that didn't interest him, he wasn't in the business of risks, and interfering with a pair or more was exactly that.

No, what he was looking for, what he was listening for, was the unmistakable sound of a single set of shoes splashing softly against the damp concrete paths.

He had trained his hearing over the years and could spot a potential victim well before they were in range of his eyesight. It was important to utilise all your senses in a hunt, it gave you an edge.

Listen for their movement.

Look for their position.

Smell their fear as they realise all too late.

Feel their limp body as it collapses into your arms.

Taste the reward money.

He slid across the street in his soft-soled shoes as if they were on wheels, leaving the faintest of patters in his wake. He had chosen tonight's victim. They didn't know it yet. Even he didn't know who they were, or what they looked like... not yet.

All he could hear was the echoing clicks of lone high heels passing through the evening breeze. To most, they were almost silent, but to him, they may as well have been the hooves of a 2000lb stallion.

The Hunt was on.

***

"You think he knows more than he's letting on?" Nick asked, mainly because he didn't have the answer himself.

"Almost definitely," Abby replied simply, staring at Contestant Sixty-Four's face on the monitor in front of her, as if she would be able to read the secrets off his every wrinkle. "Especially if Sampson's intel is legit."

Nick shrivelled at the very mention of her ex's name. "Are we doubting his intel?"

Abby thought for the sharpest of seconds before shaking her head assuredly, "No, he's telling the truth... or at the very least he thinks he is. I know how to read Sampson, and believe me he wouldn't claim to know something that he wasn't certain on, he couldn't take the humiliation of being proved wrong."

"But he didn't say anything to corroborate with Sampson's claims?" Tony chimed in.

"Not as such," Abby admitted. "But his face gave the game away, even if his lips did a decent job of lying. This guy knows something. I think he's still trying to work it all out in his own head, but he knows something, that's for sure."

"He seemed to tense up at the very mention of his wife," Nick added, keen to have some input on the conversation.

Abby nodded, "I noticed that too."

"He couldn't just be worried about her? Maybe keen to let her and the kids know that he's okay?" Tony suggested.

"It's possible, but it didn't look to me like honest concern, it looked like he had a secret to hide," Abby said. "Where are we on the kids front anyway?"

Tony stretched his bulking arm across the desk to point at the furthest of screens, which showed a slightly blurred image of a still apartment block.

"We have a team positioned outside their flat. Still no sign of Mary, but their elderly neighbour seems to be looking after the little ones just fine, no suspicious activity."

"You don't think the Addington's might come for them?" Abby questioned nervously.

"If what Sixty-Four told us about Henry's demands are true, and he did offer him an ultimatum... it's possible, but unlikely. I don't think it's the kind of plan he would have shared with the sons, plus they have bigger fish to fry at the moment," Tony explained.

"Are you going to let us have another crack at him tonight?" Nick asked excitedly, his eyes darting to the distressed image of James. "I think I can really get in his face this time, make him talk, you know?"

Tony began to shake his head well before the final words trickled out of Nick's gleeful lips, "Not tonight. The man's had enough... and come to think of it, so have you two. Go get some rest."

Nick looked dejected but nodded along like a schoolchild being instructed by the principal, "Okay, boss." Without uttering another word, he made his way to the exit with his tail between his legs, before turning and gesturing for Abby to join him.

"Actually," Tony interjected. "Can I have a quick word with Abby first?"

Nick bit his tongue. "Sure. No problem, boss." His words had an icy tinge to them.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll catch up. Make sure dinner is on the table for when I get back though," Abby said cheekily.

"Only if you stop being so cr-Abby with me," Nick jibed before leaving the room to a chorus of his own laughter.

"Knob," Abby uttered under her breath, much to Tony's amusement. "What did you want to talk to me about anyway?"

Tony smiled, "I want you to take the interrogation tomorrow."

"Oh, right. And how do you want Nick and I to play it this t-"

"No, no," Tony interrupted. "No Nick. Just you this time. I think you have a better rapport with our guest, plus I think it's important not to make him feel like he's outnumbered in there. Three can be a crowd."

Abby couldn't look away from Tony's piercing gaze, his deep brown eyes were like quicksand to hers, "That's very true," she whispered.

Suddenly, they both snapped back into the room, their blinking eyes cutting off whatever bond they had just shared. Tony coughed a fake cough before clapping his hands together, "Anyway, that's all I really had to say, I won't keep you from your dinner."

Abby grinned awkwardly, "Thank you, thank you. No, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Well done today though, Abby. You did great in there," Tony said, his hand hovering in the air. He didn't know what to do with it. Was he supposed to hug her? Shake her hand? Pat her on the back? All social understanding flooded from his brain with one humiliating flush.

After lingering for far too long, his strong hand finally landed softly on Abby's shoulder. After a few more silent and intense seconds, she was gone.

***

When the government had taken the decision to televise The Hunt, they hadn't just decided to broadcast entertainment for the nation, but an infectious hunger for it too.

Inspire a generation- That's what old-fashioned sport had always aimed to do, with worldwide televised events like the World Cup and the Olympics motivating people to get involved themselves.

Whether they had intended to or not, The Hunt had definitely captured the imaginations of viewers at home, and inevitably, a select few found it difficult to only watch the sport.

The Hunt wasn't built for the poor to take part as hunters, but to use them as an unlimited pool of victims for their multi-billion-pound venture. As with any form of oppression through history, eventually people rebelled; eventually people wanted to take part on their own terms.

Watching the streams at home, no one wanted to be the prey in The Hunt, no one dreamed of the chance to be a runner. That was a choice made out of necessity, not luxury. People didn't have posters of their favourite contestants, or premium memberships to the likes of Sixty-Four. No, people idolised the hunters, they wanted to be like them, and it hadn't been too long before certain crowds had taken the steps to make that possible.

The Dark Web had been around for almost as long as the internet itself, constantly developing and rolling with the times. The underbelly of the online world, the Dark Web provided you with access to anything and everything, from unmarked weapons to deadly chemicals.

A few years after The Hunt had taken over people's television screens, a new service had popped up on the underground web, a service aimed towards the lower end of the class system.

People had a hunger for The Hunt, it was only a matter of time before someone fed it. An underground hunt, with affordable buy-ins, and the most unwilling of volunteer prey. 

***

He didn't always feel good about his job, but as he approached his latest victim from behind he didn't show any hint of remorse. Shoving a taser gun into the small of her back, while striking her across the temple, Abby's body was limp well before she could even muster the thought of a scream.