text: The Green. A continent-spanning forest filled with genetically modified flora and fauna that grew aggressively, and could only be brought to heel by fire. The predators within the Green could rip a man outside of titanium steel wrapped, depleted uranium plated power armor in half. Then there were the ones who could rip a man inside that armor in half. The foliage was thick, barely room enough for some men, with the only way to traverse the Green had been by foot, or by air, with ground vehicles restricted to the confines of the Corporate run cities along the coast. What patches of the old roads and byways exposed to sunlight were rare and far between. Fur and Meat were the prime resources exported by Frontiersman who wished to live beyond the security of concrete slabs and steel. With different laws to follow. Different rules to live, and die by. The Corporations traded for medicine and luxuries, as well as their blue-tinted bills in order to keep some economic wheels rolling in the vegetation-covered ruins of the Old World. Then there were the Cults. Worshipers of Mother Nature, and Primal Father, who attempt to spread a blight of humanity to their own kind in an effort to return all to the soil as they belong. Sometimes it has been hard to tell the difference between Frontiersman trying to survive, and the Cultists trying to turn you into mulch or meat. It was a hellish place out here in the Green. One was threatened by the wildlife, money, or blind religion to plants and carnivores as soon as one stepped out beyond the gates. Baldr Grimskyn was called a Hunter. Hunters were men who wore titanium steel wrapped, depleted uranium plated power armor, the tanks of the modern era. In the armor, he stood nine-foot-tall and was armed with a hardened titanium steel bearded great axe of the Danes in one hand, and an under-mount snub nose minigun beneath the other. The armor and the weapons were decorative, shining silver that gleamed at what little light that found its way to the grass floor, and inlaid with gold. Even the ammunition pack and the feeder that fed the fifty-five caliber, explosive tip anti-carnivore rounds matched the finery of the armor. Despite the decorativeness of the suit, it was enough firepower and augmented might to take on a small armor of conveniently armed men and women. And the Hunter in it did not want to be in the Green. They knew better than to be here. They had gotten out six years ago, after witnessing Corporate Greed and Frontier Honor clash at Buffalo. Yet here Baldr Grimskyn, or Grim as the nameplate on his chest identified him as, was, with ten Patrolman in more conventional arms following after. The Hunter was here for one reason and one reason only. There had been a murder, and Lapis-Fernum Industries needed someone outside the Corporate World to investigate it. Lives were cheap to the Corporations out within the Green, and it only meant that an asset or employee of the company had been slain by others within their Corporate World. They gave Grim the basics, Patrolman went out with a Hunter for a two-week patrol beyond the Exclusion Zone. It had been standard practice to attach a Hunter to such patrols when one expected to run into something more than lunatics or the infected. The Patrolman, composed of Red Raptor Security Personnel, returned two days later without their Hunter. Officially the Hunter died fighting a pack of Predators, giving the Patrolman time to run. Yet the Hunter’s transponder was supposedly damaged, making the highly coveted Power Armor unrecoverable short of a coordinated search. With whatever killed them still there. This was not the first time that has happened with the same group of Red Raptor Mercenaries. Hunters dying heroically saving this one group, with the Transponders somehow becoming damaged and lost. As mentioned, they were the modern-day tank, when such military vehicles had been rendered completely obsolete. Corporations would sink millions to try and recover such armor, even if it would go to the next kin, or even buy the salvage in order to keep the armor in service to their City, and their Corporation. But, Grim was not here for that either. They had not traveled far from the confines of New York’s Exclusion Zone, much to everyone’s relief in that regard. Grim, despite not having been outside of his own block for six years, picked out the first clearing of trees from the air, then had been lowered five stories to the knee-high grass of the forest floor. It was the first sign of a man-made shelter near the patrol route, and Deitric Allenwulf, the victim, would have noticed the signs and brought their attachment of Patrolman over. That had been the normal routine in patrols, seeking out human life and judging if they were hostile, or to be ignored. Regardless, such a place would be added to an ever-changing map of the Green. Currently, as Grim and their Patrol approached, it was a blank spot. Deitric had been an intense man, they lived and partied hard. They swore vehemently with every other word and had an unpleasant attitude towards those around them. The man was a jerk, a pessimist, and never had anything positive to say about anything. They were good Hunter, never leaving a Patrolman, or a Frontiersman behind, never once turning down a job even while complaining about the pay. Within the Walls, they were an insufferable prick, out in the Green, they were someone you wanted at your back. Deitric even badgered Grim, on and on, trying to get the man to go back out beyond the wall, which turned into heated arguments over why he bothered. Grim stepped around a tree that was as thick as four men in power armor, stood over Deitric’s slumped body against it, and regarded them with mixed emotions. “I should buy whoever killed you a drink,” One the Patrolman heard the filtered words, and blurted out, “Sir?” “Nothing to you,” Grim turned their helmed head forward to survey the clearing within the wood. “We are here,” It had been a residential area once, a long time ago. Grim could barely make out the neighboring houses due to the wild vegetation that clung to the domiciles like possessive children. The one that had been occupied recently had freshly cut grass and far view vines spidering up the side of a faded yellow home. Several burnt tree stumps dominated the front yard, and a tin fence could be barely seen towards the back. The door had been patched with metal, and the stairs leading up to it were made of cinder blocks. The roof had a deerskin nailed down to cover the holes from the rain. The skull of the prey-animal lay atop the rusted ruins of a car in the driveway, taking up much of the roof. It was a six-point deer, with several bullet holes decorated the side Grim could see. Wolf claws and teeth reinforced the carriage door, as long as a man’s forearm, bound together by leather strips and metal wiring. The occupants were Hunters themselves, apparently, just not as well equipped as Grim or Deitric had been. It impressed the Power Armored wearing man, who knew how tough Wolves could be in large packs. The Patrolman flooded into the area, with a few standing over Deitric’s body. One leaned over to inspect the armor, careful not to touch it with their hands. “They ripped out the transponder, and it looks like someone shot him clear through the visor with something armor-piercing,” “A Bear Rifle, point-blank range,” Grim reported. There had been no rage in their filtered voice. It had been calm, unnervingly so, as it always was in what little interaction he had with the Patrolman. Though there was a quiet rage in their tone, the Patrolmen knew it, they all knew the signs. Like one of their supervisors who was quietly berating them when a normal person would be screaming at the top of their lungs. They all could see the similarities between the armor the dead, and the living Hunter wore. Deitric had snarling Wolf’s head for a helmet, bared teeth lunging for a throat. Grim’s helm had matched their voice, calm with a studying gaze sizing up their prey. They were the same wolf’s head, simply carved into different expressions. With the same calm voice, Grim gestured with the axe towards the house. “Encircle the clearing, keep me covered,” There had been no verbal argument, but some exchanged looks with one another. They were here for the suit and nothing else. Grim approached the house and tested the door. Finding some resistance, the Hunter stepped back, and wedged his axe deep into the metal, before ripping the door, and the frame, right off the house. Crawling in, Grim found the place cramped, being nine-foot-tall in the armor, and he had to slouch ever so slightly or scrape his head on the ceiling. The floor creaked beneath the feet, barely holding the half-ton of armor and weapons, but it held. Thankfully, there did not appear to be stairs, he would need a Patrolman then, and Grim was under strict orders not to include them. The room Grim stepped into had bodies, zipped tied, and executed where they stood. Grim loomed over the bodies, mumbling to no one as he did so. “No green eyes,” Grim listed to the air as he gently, and with great care, handled the dead before him with a single power-armored encased glove, “No scaling on the skin, no Type Three. No vegetation in the wounds, or roots securing them to the floor, no Type Two,” Standing up as best they could and focusing on the zip ties, the Hunter gestured with their axe. “Zip tied, and executed so no Type One,” “They were not infected with the Dryad, and I do not see markings, or iconography to the Mother or the Father,” Then, slowly, Grim panned their helmet from one side of the room to the other, ensuring to linger over what would be valuable. “There are trinkets scattered around the room, weapons, and munitions that could have been flagged for salvage,” Stopping at a fur lumped onto the floor, Grim reached down and hoisted as much as he could up to their visor, and scanned over it before turning it loose. “Wolf pelt, I judge about six figures worth, maybe less considering its damaged, so the cause was not burglary,” With the same controlled care, Grim reached into a thick side pouch and pulled out a thin, golden chain with a heart-shaped locket at the end. Setting down the axe, and with a single digit, the Hunter opened the locket, revealing a holographic projection that flickered to life. A Father, a Mother, and a Little Girl. The house was the background, with all three wearing colorful shirts of blue, red, and pink. They were smiling, enjoying their life out in the Green despite the dangers. There were three males here, no women. The first room had what he sought, the Mother, and the Little Girl. What lay within was a nightmarish crime that, momentarily, made Grim close his eyes, and suck in a lung full of air. Yet Grim made sure to be facing the contents of the room for a long, long period of time, before backing away and exiting the house. Only two words escaped Grim’s helmed head as he passed by the Patrolman in charge, “Burn it,” and the Hunter did not linger to oversee the action. Grim headed straight back to the ropes attached to airships that still hovered above, not wanting to be here at all. The ride back had been an uncomfortable three-hour trip. Grim had to weather the journey under an Executive Cutter, latched on by cables designed for that very purpose. They had stopped long enough to scrub the power armor down in quarantine, ensuring to remove any pollen or seed from the surface of the armor. A quick search through pouches, registering contents to forms, submitting to a viral scan, tedium on tedium that Grim bore in silent annoyance. Then it was back unto the Cutter, where he would be flown directly to his home near Central Lake in the Heart of New York’s Entertainment Block. The flight over the Exclusion Zone was the worst part, and it made Grim’s stomach sink to look down between his dangling feet. Five miles of mute gray asphalt, bordering the thick gray wall and the towering City they both protected. Nothing living had been allowed to exist nor linger here with a stack of security clearances from five different corporate holdings, and twelve different badges. Spurts of fire could be seen from roving patrols of men and women who had volunteered for the work or had been volunteered. They put anything green to the flame, grass, weeds, or even stray branches fallen from the high trees that tower over the walls. Yet other than the soft glow of flamethrowers spitting fire, there was no light below. Just vast darkness that clung to one’s soul just as tightly as roots grasp at the ground. Ahead, and approaching fast, had been the comforting glow of New York City, the largest city in the Conglomerated States. It was a second Sun to Grim, who had no desire to leave the creature comforts of his apartment. As Grim was whisked towards his final destination, a communications beep warned him of an incoming call. A long, slow sigh escaped from his lips, and Grim simply stared at the indicator on his screen. He did not want to talk to this person as much as he did not want to find Deitric’s body. Finally, Grim rolled his eyes, and gruffly asked, “Yes?” A man in a corporate suit appeared on the screen, and though their face was impassive, Grim could not help but comment. “You look mad, Mimgari,” Mimgari ignored the observation and started speaking, their tone formal and business-like, with very little in the way of emotion. Mimgari was Chief of New York Law Enforcement, owned and operated by the Lapis-Fernum Industries, and was dressed as such. Behind the sharply dressed man had been a wall of flickering screens from viewpoints of Detectives performing their duties. They were too many to focus on, and it hurt Grim’s eyes to try. “The Department of Justice has finished watching your footage and rendered a verdict two hours ago. Your footage?” Mimgari paused a moment, and arched a brow, “It was, thorough,” “And?” Grim asked, knowing already where this was going. “We pressed charges for the death of a Contract Employee and the Sabotage of Equipment due to be forfeited to Lapis-Fernum holdings,” Mimgari stated, tilting their head to the side to study Grim’s reaction. There was none, the expression the Hunter gave the Corporate Law Enforcement Officer had been boredom. “The Hunter Guilds will be informed of our Investigation, and the Red Raptors Security Firm will be further penalized by association. However, because of the scene of the crime, I was permitted to investigate further in order to seek violations within the City itself,” “Vincent Doul,” Mimgari announced, holding up a data-pad and read off of it, “The rest of his Red Raptor squadmates will be working the Exclusion Zone for the next five years, they can’t afford the half-million credit fines, Vincent is the son of an Executive Member to Beltross Barony, who had to resettle here in New York after their Warehouses burned down in Buffalo,” “How sad,” Grim quipped sarcastically. Mimgari continued on without a nod, smile, or acknowledgment of Grim speaking, “Vincent posted the fine, but he is still in our custody for the moment. As of half an hour ago, Detectives found fifteen lockets like the one he tried to sneak in. They were not even hidden, just hanging over his bed like trophies. Two of them belong to women who were raped and murdered years ago, but they are well beyond the statute of limitations so all we can do is consider their cases solved. The rest?” Grim, knew exactly why, “They lived out in the Green,” “In Vincent’s words, people die in the Green every day, who cares about more plant food?” Mimgari said with a hint of disdain in a monotone voice, “When he was interviewed, he considered the half-million a slap on the wrist. Currently, we do not have a murder weapon to match the cause of death nor evidence that they killed the other Hunters, so we have to let him go,” “Of course you do,” Grim replied with a bit more disgust than he wanted to show. “Interesting, however,” Mimgari again arched their brow, “That an invitation to the Wolf’s Den was found on his messages,” Now, Grim straightened, locking eyes with Mimgari. It was the first time in the exchange that Mimgari offered any sort of smile, let alone a knowing one. Grim, after a pause, offered a single demand. “Give me his File,” Landing on the roof on the Wolf’s Den, Grim exited his Power Armor while on a Freight Elevator going down. They made sure to fish out the locket to study as they headed to their penthouse apartment to change. What they wore had been a simple, yet elegant, soft velvet blue long coat with a matching suit and vibrant green spectacles. The Wolf’s Den had been the limelight of New York’s Central Lake, an artificial lake that, according to myth, replaced a large swath of trees and bushes that once rested in the center of the city. The Wolf's Den, a twenty-four-hour establishment where the party never stooped, overlooked the lake was highly successful and almost always packed. The lines of people winding around the block were still entertained with holographic projections of vegetation decorated key locations of where they once stood. Live plants outside of an Agricultural Tower had been illegal within City Limits for as long as anyone remembered, and fewer still have ever seen a real one up close that was not already on their plate. Grim lived on top of the Wolf’s Den, and exited a hidden elevator into a virtually empty VIP room reserved for himself, and guests. In here, they could peer out into the twisting crowd dancing to the latest fad in music without being seen, nor hearing what was being played. One person, another corporate man in a suit, sat at the end of a long blue table that uniformly matched the color of the room. Seeing Grim, the man, Vincent, stood up, but Grim waved them back down, “My name is Grimskyn, I own this place,” Grim introduced himself, and opened the door to the hellish noise beyond, making a motion for someone else to approach. “And I, Mr. Vincent, owe you a drink,” “Excuse me?” Vincent asked, rather suspicious. They had just been fined a considerable amount of money and suspended without pay. Somehow they knew Grim was connected somehow. “And why do you owe me a drink?” A waitress entered and passed Grim a wine glass as she walked on to Vincent to place the cup on the table before him. Soon, the woman walked out, giving Vincent a playful grin before departing. “Wine, straight from Rome itself,” Grim explained and held up their own glass. “You killed Deitric Allenwulf, that Hunter you got fined for out in the Green,” Instantly Vincent became wary, looking at the Drink before placing it down and away from himself. “I did no such thing,” “I was at the scene of the crime itself, Bear-Rifle through the faceplate.” Grim observed, pointing at Vincent, “You should have aimed for the gut, let him die slowly,” “I take it you and Deitric were not on the best of terms?” Vincent asked nervously. “I was at Buffalo during the riots, Deitric suckered me into a job that I really did not want to do,” Grim noted, now indicating the sea of people beyond the glass, “The credits I earned bought the old club here outright, and I still had more money then I will ever need to spend,” Vincent’s eyes glossed over a moment, and their mouth gaped, “You’re Grim!” “Unfortunately,” Grim conceded with a nod of his head. “You owe me more than just a drink then,” Vincent said angrily and snatched the wine glass up to sipped at it. “Did they tell you who my Father is?” “Not really, not interested in your Father, just you killing Deitric,” Grim said indifferently, and held up their wine glass, “Thanks for killing a right bastard,” “You really did not like him did you?” Vincent asked, reluctantly holding up their glass to toast as well. “Are you even going to ask me why?” “Nope, I honestly don’t care,” Grim answered bluntly and did not partake in their glass as Vincent drained theirs. Instead, the Hunter placed it down, then asked, “How is the wine?” “Bittersweet,” Vincent grunted. Without a flourish, Grim tossed Vincent the heart-shaped locket. It was caught and open, projecting the dead in front of Vincent’s eyes. Stunned, Vincent looked up, and Grim had a golden pistol already aimed at them. Shot after shot rang out and hit its mark, unheard and unwitnessed by the crowd. Vincent screamed in surprise and then fell silent as Grim emptied the magazine with slow, deliberate shots. The elaborate pistol clicked twice before Grim tossed it away in disgust. Looming over the body, Grim snatched the locket up and spat on the corpse. “That was for the girl,” Sitting down, a small crew in corporate jumpsuits with LFI branding on the sleeves, entered the room and started to surround the body of Vincent. Before they did anything, Grim spoke up, gesturing to the corpse. “Toss that into the Green,” “And if someone from Beltross Barony comes asking questions?” one of the men asked. “File a report that Vincent went out with another Patrol, trying to hide from the Guilds,” Grim responded without hesitation or thought, “Cultist shot him dead in a firefight,” “Think that will cover it?” With a roll of his eyes, and pocketing the locket as he stood, Grim answered, their tone dismissive, uncaring if it was enough to cover anything. “First, when the Guilds find out that Vincent’s little group murdered Hunters, the Red Raptors not being able to score contracts with the Guilds will be the least of the problem. Beltross Barony Board of Directors would not dare challenge Lapis-Fernum Industries in any of its Cities, much less challenge the Guilds. Not after Buffalo.