The Journals

CHAPTER 7

Camryn's POV

The medical tent smelled like antiseptic and blood.

Marcus worked on my nose in silence, trying to reset the break. Claire sat on a cot nearby, staring at nothing while someone bandaged her hands. James had already been patched up and sent to his tent.

"You'll heal," Marcus said, stepping back to examine his work. "The ribs will take longer, but nothing's punctured. You got lucky."

Lucky. Right. Two people were dead, and I'd nearly been torn apart by a monster with too many mouths, but sure. Lucky.

"Someone's here to see you," Marcus added, gesturing toward the tent entrance.

The woman who walked in was nothing like I expected. She was tall with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and eyes that looked like they could calculate your worth down to the decimal point. She wore dark clothing like everyone else, but hers was tailored and professional, with a silver pin on her collar that marked her as something more than just another Hunter.

"Camryn Chavez," she said, and her voice matched her appearance: sharp, precise, and without warmth. "I'm Mrs. Mary Harriet, your handler."

"Handler?" I asked.

"Trainer, supervisor, and the person who decides whether you live long enough to see Stage Two." She pulled a chair over and sat down, studying me the way someone might study a horse at auction. "You survived your first deployment. Congratulations. That puts you ahead of thirty percent of new recruits."

"Two people died."

"Yes. Peter Martins and David Chen. Their deaths have been logged, and their credits redistributed to other survivors," she said it like she was reading from a grocery list. "Now we move forward with the survivors."

I wanted to argue and tell her that people shouldn't be reduced to names in a log, but the exhaustion caught up with me. Everything hurt, and I just wanted to sleep for a week.

"Give me your right hand," Mrs. Harriet said.

"Why?"

"Because I'm about to bind you to your contract, and I need your dominant hand to do it." She pulled out what looked like a fountain pen from her jacket pocket, except the tip glowed with a faint blue light. "This is standard procedure for all Stage One Hunters. You survived the trial; now you get the System."

I hesitated, remembering the shifting tattoo Amon had mentioned. The one that would track every kill, every credit, every step forward or failure in this nightmare.

"What if I refuse?"

Mrs. Harriet smiled, and it was the coldest expression I'd ever seen. "Then the System enforces the contract by other means. Madness, usually. Sometimes death, if you're particularly resistant. But you won't refuse, because you're smarter than that. You want to survive. You want answers." Her eyes narrowed. "You want to know what Camryn Chavez died for."

My blood went cold. "How do you…?"

"I know everything about every Hunter in my care. That includes knowing which bodies they inhabit and what those bodies were doing before they died." She leaned forward. "The question is whether you're stupid enough to follow in her footsteps or smart enough to learn from her mistakes."

I met her gaze and held it. "I'm smart enough to know that asking questions got her killed. But I'm also smart enough to know that not asking questions won't keep me safe either."

"Good. At least you're not completely naive." She gestured impatiently. "Hand."

I gave her my right hand.

The pen touched my wrist, and I felt a sharp burning sensation, like someone was carving into my skin with a hot knife. I bit back a scream as blue light spread across my wrist, forming patterns that shifted and moved like living ink.

"The contract is simple," Mrs. Harriet said as she worked. "You are now officially a Stage One Hunter. To advance to Stage Two, you must complete two requirements: eliminate a minimum of twenty anomalies and earn a minimum of one thousand five hundred credits."

The burning intensified, and I watched as numbers appeared on my wrist in that same shifting blue light:

STAGE: I KILLS: 0/20 CREDITS: 0/1,500

"Every time you kill an anomaly, the System records it here," Mrs. Harriet continued. "The credit value depends on the classification of the threat. Class E threats are worth five credits. Class D, which you'll be facing most often, is worth twenty-five credits. Higher classifications earn more, but you won't face those until you advance."

"What happens if I don't meet the requirements?" I asked.

"Then you remain in Stage One indefinitely, taking on the same low-level threats over and over until either you meet the quota or something kills you." She finished whatever she was doing with the pen and pulled back. The burning faded to a dull ache. "Most Hunters who don't advance within their first year don't make it to their second."

I stared at the tattoo on my wrist as it pulsed faintly.

"There's more," Mrs. Harriet said. "Credits can be used to purchase equipment, supplies, and accommodations. They can also be forfeited to acquire abilities from anomalies you've personally killed. But that's advanced territory—most Stage One Hunters don't survive long enough to consider it."

"Abilities?"

"Every anomaly has unique characteristics. With enough credits, you can extract and integrate those characteristics into yourself." She stood, brushing off her jacket. "But that comes later. Right now, your focus should be on survival and accumulation. Kill anomalies. Earn credits. Advance through the stages. Eventually, if you're strong enough, you might earn your freedom."

"How many stages are there?"

"Six. Though I've only ever met one Stage Six Hunter in my fifteen years doing this work." Mrs. Harriet moved toward the tent exit, then paused. "One more thing, Camryn. The tattoo is connected directly to your nervous system. If you attempt to remove it, if you refuse missions, if you try to subvert or escape the System in any way..." She looked back at me. "It will kill you. Slowly and painfully. So don't get creative."

"What if I just want to opt out? What if I don't want to be a Hunter?"

"Then you die; don’t you get the whole speech I just gave?" she snapped. "The System doesn't offer retirement plans. You advance, or you die trying. Those are your only options."

After she left, I sat there staring at my wrist. The numbers glowed softly in the dim light of the medical tent:

0/20 0/1,500

Twenty kills. Fifteen hundred credits. That was the price of moving forward, of getting one step closer to whatever counted as freedom in this place.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Marcus said quietly. He'd been working on organizing his medical supplies while Mrs. Harriet talked, giving us some privacy. "Most Stage One Hunters reach their quota within three to six months if they're careful and consistent."

"And if they're not careful?"

"Then they become statistics." He met my eyes. "Like Peter and David."

I touched the tattoo gently. It was warm under my fingers, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. 

"Mary mentioned that credits can be forfeited for abilities," I said. "Have you ever seen someone do that?"

Marcus nodded. "A few times. It's expensive and risky. The integration process doesn't always work; even when it does, there are usually side effects. But for Hunters who survive long enough to accumulate the necessary credits..." He shrugged. "It can mean the difference between advancing to the next stage or staying trapped at their current level."

"What kind of abilities are we talking about?"

"Depends on what you kill. Enhanced strength from certain physical anomalies. Sensory abilities from hunters or trackers. Some anomalies have stranger gifts, like manipulation of shadows, minor reality distortions, that sort of thing." He paused. "But like I said, it's expensive. Most of your kills will only earn you twenty-five credits each. You'd need to forfeit a significant portion of your earnings to acquire even a basic ability."

The tent flap opened and Amon walked in. His eyes went immediately to my wrist.

"She marked you."

"Yeah." I held up my hand so he could see the glowing numbers. "Apparently I need to kill twenty things and earn fifteen hundred credits before I can level up."

"Welcome to the grind," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got thrown into a nightmare and told to make the best of it." I lowered my hand. "How long did it take you to reach Stage Two?"

"Eight months. I was cautious, methodical. Some Hunters do it faster if they're willing to take risks." He sat down on the cot next to mine. "But speed isn't always better. The Hunters who rush through tend to die before they reach Stage Three."

"What stage are you?"

"Four," he said it quietly, like he didn't want to draw attention. "Took me six years to get here."

Six years. Six years of hunting monsters, of watching people die, of surviving in a world that probably wanted you dead.

"Is it worth it?" I asked. "Does it get better?"

Amon was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful. "It gets different. You get stronger, face bigger threats, and earn more credits. But better?" He shook his head. "That depends on what you're fighting for. If it's just survival, then no. It never gets better. But if you have a reason, something beyond just staying alive..." He met my eyes. "Then maybe it's worth it."

I thought about the journals hidden in my tent. About House Gold and the secrets that got the original Camryn killed. About the truth buried under centuries of lies.

"I have a reason," I said quietly.

"I know you do." Amon stood. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we start working on your quota. Twenty kills might not sound like much, but you'll need to stay sharp if you want to survive them all."

After he left, I lay back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. 

Twenty monsters between me and the next stage. Fifteen hundred credits between me and whatever came after.

It should have felt impossible. It should have made me want to give up.

Instead, all I felt was determination.