A/N: I appear to be one day behind schedule, for which I apologize. Enjoy!

Around three days after the Spark,
An abandoned farmhouse outside the city

Hunter had seen countless reactions to his work on the faces of people he rescued from EVOs – shock, disbelief, numbness, grief, rage, acceptance, fear. Some people would clutch their loved ones near and hang on tight through the ordeal. Others would simply faint away at the stress of it all. Some of them, children mostly, displayed no terror at all, and indeed would shoot him quizzical glances as he protected them.

However, no matter what their instant reaction upon being attacked by an EVO was, they generally had some measure of gratitude in their eyes. A twinkling of salvation, relief that their desperate prayers had been heard and a savior had been sent. They would come to him later, as well, and thank him for being there to save them.

These people were the reason that, when asked, he could straight-facedly claim that he was helping.

Although some labeled him as 'evil', claiming that his quest for vengeance was excessive and unfulfilling, he took pride in his work. Contracting his services out in order to eradicate the accursed pests that EVOs were, he truly believed that his quest was morally sanctioned, and was prepared to break every rule in the ethical handbook if it got him closer to his divinely appointed goal. His final end was clear – enable people to defend themselves from the monsters, and eradicate said monsters himself.

He was proud of it.

He'd lived according to his personal creed, and he'd never once faltered – neither in his heart nor in his mission. He was perfectly willing to give his own life up if he could just finish his quest. Pressing unfailingly and unflinchingly forward, he took every blow that fate handed him on the chin and continued to perform all kinds of skullduggery in order to attain his ultimate prize. With a dedication that could only be called obsession, he was fully prepared to abandon all trappings of morality as he fought tooth-and-nail against this worldwide menace.

He would shoot an EVO in a heartbeat if the opportunity presented itself, regardless of age or culpability. He'd long ago shed any illusions he may have harbored regarding the innocence of young EVOs – indeed, sometimes it was the younger ones who were the worst freaks. No, the outside of a beast was no standard to judge it by; they all had to be destroyed.

Be that as it may, he was not a total maniac. He had standards.

For instance, he disliked involving innocents in his battles. He was OK with sacrificing his own men in the course of a battle, as that was the way of war, but he tried to avoid cutting down bystanders. Indeed, he often went to great lengths to protect civilians.

Carrying on from that, he preferred to avoid fighting humans whenever possible. Even if they stood in his path, his own species was always significantly harder to fight than the mutated freaks who masqueraded as normal under superficial illusions of humanity. He could slay an EVO with a human face any day without so much as a second thought, but killing the real deal was always tougher.

No matter what depths he plumbed in his lifelong journey to purify the planet; no matter how depravities he committed during his search for ultimate vengeance; he remained bound by the lingering specter of his conscience, which he would assuage by murmuring the same platitude over and over. This one mantra would slake his memories in the quiet hours, when memories of old came to haunt him.

He'd dedicated his life to protecting the innocent. He'd never let a single bystander come to harm. He was doing everything he could.

The room was cramped, with little but the bare necessities lining the thinly boarded walls. The wallpaper, originally a yellow floral design, was peeling in several places, and the mold patched onto the roof spoke of constant water seepage. Cracked windows with cardboard covering especially large gaps spoke of the poor care. The floor creaked in protest as Hunter shifted his weight upon the rickety chair he had ensconced himself in, and clouds of dust rose lazily as he moved his booted feet.

What a dump.

While unnecessarily blunt, Hunter's assessment was quite accurate. Even if the decrepit atmosphere inundating the room itself (what with the broken windows, mildewing walls and peeling paper) weren't enough of a clue, the house was falling apart at the seams. The musty air and layers of dust were giveaways, but the cumulative effect was patently obvious, leading to only one conclusion:

Nobody had been living in this house for a long time.

While Hunter could have conjured up countless explanations for why the boy had been living here, none of them made sense. Had the boy been cycling through houses looking for a base, like a true pack rat, and picked this one at random? If so, then why was there fresh food stocked up in the kitchen? And if the boy had been living here for some time, then why didn't the house show any signs of it? And, above all – why was there an EVO chained up in the basement? It just didn't add up.

What does it matter? The kid protected an EVO! He should be dead!

Taking his mind off of such shaky topics, Hunter continued his examination of the room.

The only things within it that appeared to have been used within the last several years were essentially what Hunter had disturbed himself, as well as a few personal items that had been strewn upon the mantelpiece by someone else fairly recently. A few family pictures, the like. Hunter took note of them and marked them for later examination.

The bed was the only piece of furniture that showed signs of regular use – indeed, the contrast between the cot and the rest of the room was striking. The pristine white blankets still hung onto that pleasantly indescribable scent of recently washed cloth; while the cheap plywood of the bed's structure itself was warped and aged. There were footprint tracks scattered throughout the heavy dust within the room, notably about the aforementioned immaculate bed.

Of course, the formerly white blankets were stained with specks of crimson now, and the dust was speckled with an uneven trail of blood.

Hunter turned his pensive gaze to the figure that was currently occupying said marred sheets. Lying composedly upon the thin mattress, the boy's breaths were even and deep. His heavily bandaged chest rose and fell gently with each breath he took, completely oblivious to the world about him.

When Hunter had torn the curtains up neatly, he'd allowed a small amount of light to dribble in through the grimy windows, although he left the shades down. He'd boiled the shredded curtains on the stove while poking about for some medicine. After finding some iodine that didn't look too old, he sterilized the kid's shoulder thoroughly before wrapping the wound tightly with the strips of cloth. He'd then sat back, moderately satisfied with his work.

Other than the light from the windows, the place may as well have been a moratorium. Bored with the lack of…well…anything, Hunter started poking about a bit.

Why am I still here?

To be honest, he couldn't answer the question himself. He supposed that half of the problem was the person lying on the bed in front of him.

When the kid had taken the bullet meant for the EVO, Hunter hadn't really known how to react. It had been so long since anything that he'd shot hadn't been actively trying to kill him, he had almost forgotten that his gun could harm humans as well. The fact that the boy had gone unconscious after being shot hardly helped, as Hunter was first worried that he was dead.

Eventually, he'd managed to hoist the child up the stairs and into what appeared to be a bedroom. He'd extracted the bullet almost immediately, and had momentarily wondered whether or not he should take care of the boy's injuries. Eventually he'd come to a conclusion and had torn down the curtains.

Hunter looked down at the sleeping boy lying there, wrapped in fabric. His heavily bandaged upper body contrasted sharply against his dark black hair, the two shades in a dichotomous struggle.

The spotty light that filtered through the slats of the drawn shades played over the boy's face interestingly. While Hunter's neck and face was angled surreptitiously away from the light, shying away from its radiance almost instinctively; the boy's features were illuminated by the almost seraphic glow coming from the diffused light.

Hunter, of course, wasn't interested in such optical illusions, but was puzzling out the chain of events in his own mind. He still didn't understand the specifics of the accident, and frankly had no interest in playing the part of the Good Samaritan. He'd taken care of the kid because of the meal that had been offered to him (the soup, although cooled considerably, had tasted quite good), as well as the inherent responsibility attached to shooting an innocent child in the shoulder. Now that had been taken care of, however, his conscience should have been sated.

Besides, it's not like this kid's anything special. He threw himself in front of one of those monsters – that makes him nothing more than a good-for-nothing EVO-lover! He's one of them! I'd be perfectly justified if I just walked out right now and left him to the whims of fate!

So…why am I still here?

Suddenly curious, Hunter picked up one of the picture frames lying around. The brass outline was burnished brightly, as though it had been polished that very day. The glass was spotless, and reflected specks of sunlight spangled into Hunter's eyes as he squinted to make out the details.

It was a simple enough picture. Two people. One was young. The boy, obviously – smiling almost inhumanly large, creased eyes looking right into the camera as his arms slung around the man next to him. They looked to be at some kind of bunker.

The man was older, probably the father. Dressed in a Providence uniform with a serious look on his face. Blond hair, square jaw. His eyes were shifty, but his mouth was curved upwards lightly. He had a distant look about him, as though he was getting ready to say goodbye. There was a Providence jet hovering behind the two, almost prepped for takeoff.

Hunter was prevented from making any further observations by the boy himself, who began stirring and groaning quietly as he shifted about on the bed. Moving quietly, Hunter stepped back softly and watched as the kid slowly dragged himself upright, clutching his wounded side all the while. His face was curiously unguarded, as though he wasn't fully awake. His first words were halting, blocked by a dry throat.

"W-wa…wat…er…"

After a brief moment of hesitation, Hunter quickly passed the recently awakened boy a glass of water, which he eagerly gulped down, sighing as he moistened his parched mouth. As he drank, his features sharpened as the water got his mind working. Eventually he put the cup down and tried again.

"What happened? Why am I in bed? What are you doing?" Evidently, the kid was as garrulous as ever. Hunter decided to be a simple as possible with his answers.

"You were unconscious."

Eye roll. "I get that. I mean why?"

Easy answer. "You got shot."

"By that?" The kid looked none-too-subtly at the gun next to Hunter and gestured to it.

Glancing down, Hunter hefted his cannon gently before slinging it up onto his back, getting up from his antiquated seat with a tremendous amount of creaking and popping. "That's right." Moving to the door, he was almost out when a final question came to him:

"How long will this keep me down?" the boy asked, obviously wondering when he could be up and moving again. Hunter pondered his reply.

"Around a month, if you keep the pressure off of it." Pause. "Good luck."

And with that final sentence, Hunter turned from the invalid in bed and made his way from the room. He retraced his steps back to the basement almost instinctively, following the scarlet line of red on the floor back to its origin point. His moral obligation had been satisfied at last; he could wrap up the loose ends now.

Might as well take care of the freak, then I can take off. The kid's fine, he'll be alright. In his own mind, Hunter was already at a phone booth, dialing up his contacts and getting ready to start the war again. He drew up plans of regimentation and schemes of organization mentally. He'd wasted too much time here. He was ready to get back in the game.

Before he had taken more than three steps on his way out, however, he felt something brush by him. Looking down, he saw the boy staggering briskly towards the kitchen, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that he'd just woken up and had been told to stay in bed. He was leaning on the wall with one hand, and was using the other to clutch his wound. Hunter was mildly intrigued by his actions – that wound should have kept him down all day – and not a little annoyed. He'd gone through all the trouble of patching that cut up, and now the brat was trying to undo all his work.

What does he think he's doing?

"If you want that wound to heal cleanly, you'll stay in bed awhile longer."

The kid continued on his way unsteadily, acting for all the world as though Hunter hadn't spoken. He was muttering under his breath, spitting out numbers as he spoke: "Let's see…need five cans a day…three pounds…per meal…lots of beef…"

Curiosity piqued by the boy's insistent determination, Hunter decided to let this play out a little while longer. Following his unsteady footsteps led to the cupboard, where the kid had opened a shelf and was scrutinizing the contents. He then proceeded to scoop up a large number of metal cans and other goods in his arms, before carrying them outside. There was a loud clattering sound, following which the boy came back inside and grabbed another armful. This repeated itself several times, until the cupboard was entirely bare of food.

Hunter watched all this with a vaguely indulgent air, not really caring what the boy did but still mildly interested. His attitude, however, changed rather rapidly when he noticed where the kid was going to next.

He was headed to the basement.

"Why are you going down there?" Hunter half-questioned, half-challenged as the boy stumbled down the stairs. Once again, the kid ignored him and kept going, opening the door and sliding in carefully. Hunter followed hastily – he had yet to kill the EVO down there, and was worried that history was about to repeat itself. He needn't have bothered, however.

Inside the basement, the kid was unconcernedly gathering the leftover meat that the beast had yet to consume, and was stuffing it all into the tattered remains of his burlap sack. He never strayed too close to the monster, aware now of the tight perimeter established by the freak's chained collar, and stayed outside attack range studiously. He made a pile of all the shredded leftovers, and tossed them to the creature.

He's a quick study, but what is he doing?

Lured by the offer of free meat, the monstrosity pounced onto the pile and began messily devouring it, sending scraps and gobbets flying. The kid, taking advantage of its gluttonous distraction, scurried behind it and began messing with the chain's base. The creature, absorbed in its meal, paid him no heed. Hunter watched with revulsion as it gorged itself.

Might as well finish things now.

Raising his cannon, he prepared to finish the miserable beast's existence. His gun clicked as he cocked it, drawing the attention of the monster in front of him. It looked up, meat fragments dribbling from its mouth, and stared straight down the barrel of his cannon.

Hunter tightened his finger on the trigger, ready to kill the mutant and move on with life.

The kid, who had looked up from whatever it was he was doing to the chain, realized what was going on and started moving.

Hunter took one last look at the creature's disgusting face, recoiling internally at the brute stupidity of its expression. He breathed in, ready to take the shot–

–and then his view was filled by a very angry teenager's face.

"Excuse me? Exactly what do you think you're doing!" the boy asked loudly, not quite shouting. Yet. He was standing just outside the monster's reach, at the very edge of the perimeter of motion afforded to it by the chain. The beast, completely unaware of how narrowly it had just escaped, groped vainly to try and snag the kid's shirt.

Hunter hoisted his gun onto his shoulder and studied the boy for a moment. He seemed genuinely angry at Hunter for some reason, and wasn't at all intimidated by the fact he'd just jumped into the line of fire. Again.

"Stand aside, kid. I'm going to kill this thing, then I'll leave." Hunter's patience was wearing thin – he had things to be doing, after all.

The kid, however, wasn't impressed in the slightest, and began trying to placate Hunter. His palms were upturned, as though he were talking to a dangerous animal.

"Believe you me, I would love to be the one pointing a gun in that scumbag's face. Unfortunately, I've gotta get to Providence and cure 'that thing'. Just…calm down, and put the gun away, mister. Okay?" Hunter wasn't backing out of this, though – especially not after hearing the accursed 'C-word'.

"No! You can't cure EVOs; they're an infection – a plague! Stand aside and let me shoot this monster!" The overflow of wrath that he had bottled up came to the forefront now, baying for the blood of the freak behind the boy. He had to kill it. He needed to kill it. Why wasn't the kid moving?

"Move!" he yelled once more.

"No!" The boy's face was suddenly grim and set. He stared right back at Hunter, matching his glare evenly.

Lowering his gun in one swift motion, Hunter leveled in the kid's face. "Get out of the way!"

The boy spread his arms defiantly, as though daring Hunter to fire.

"No."

Hunter's hands shook – something that hadn't happened in years.

"I'll shoot!" he shouted, shifting the gun higher. He fired a warning shot past the kid's ears, sending the bullet whistling into the concrete wall. The shockwave shook the roof, making the lights blink and sending down a light dusting of grey powder.

The boy flinched as the shot went by him, but stood resolute, arms stretched out. He said nothing in response; just looked back at Hunter. His eyes were sullen, like the embers of a fire, but Hunter could see the flame lying hidden within.

The blood was pounding in his ears as every neuron he possessed screamed for him to shove the obstacle out of the way then kill the freak. Yet even as he prepared to move, he caught sight of the boy's bandaged side. Thoughts flickered through his mind, memories of brown eyes and desperate cries and keening wails louder than human comprehension. His tendons quivered as he fought with himself, arms shaking at the internal conflict roiling within.

At last, he lowered his gun, unable to comprehend why this boy would risk his life so fearlessly to defend an EVO. Lifting his head, he asked:

"Why? Why won't you move?"

The boy's lips quirked in a shadow of a smile as he turned to survey the monster behind him. There was a shadow of loss, of emotion beyond the boy's age. His face was twisted wryly, and his eyes burned darkly with both love and hate. His voice, when he spoke, was carefully neutral.

"You see, as useless, pathetic, and half-hearted as he's been all my life…I can't let you kill that EVO."

The kid took a steadying breath, then let it out slowly.

"That's…my dad."

A/N: I'm basing my pseudo-professional conclusion that Hunter dislikes hurting humans off of the fact that one of his mottos seems to be enabling people to defend themselves (handing out weapons, etc.). Of course, there was the time that he attacked Rex's family (humans and EVOs), but he did give everyone in the building a warning and a deadline to get out of the firing zone. Given that he has an almost psychotic hatred of people who associate with EVOs, I'm impressed he gave them any notice at all.

Any guesses as to who the kid's dad actually is? He's actually a canon character, so it should be obvious. For the record, although Hunter sees the boy as a 'child', 'kid', or 'brat', he's actually around 16 years old.

I'm also considering not giving the boy a name, in the style of The Kid, the main character from Bastion.

YellowAngela: Thanks for the review! I think that anyone familiar with Six knows what his former comrades are about to face (I almost feel bad for them). True, Squid was picked out due to his emo-ness.

Etheria4: Glad you liked them, and thanks for reviewing! Always makes my day to see those notifications pop up.

And now, tradition demands to be satisfied. What slaves we are…

"Hey author," cries primate BoBo,
"Just mention me: I exist as well!"
"Oh dear", saith I, "But don't you know?"
"If y'ain't part-bad, your tale's not mine to tell!"

xxXxx