”OY, GATHER IN.”

The coach’s voice resounded from across the field. Somehow he managed to fill the entire turf with three short words. Boys ranging ages fourteen to eighteen heeded his call and headed to the mundane metallic bleachers. Mercutio Simmons, at the time eighteen, fell into line with them. He was the defensive tackle, mostly for his girth, but also for his achievements on the team. The boy was lined up to go to his state college. He was happy. This was textbook.

But Mercutio was bored. Bored as hell. The only entertainment he derived was the thrill he got from the shadows. The unsettled feeling he got when he was near them was better than the empty monotony he got everywhere else. It was something.

A voice broke his thoughts. “Get over here Simmons,” a gruff voice said. It was the assistant coach, Neils. He was a good man, but strict. Mercutio smiled sheepishly and joined the group, next to his friend Carter, who gave him an understanding look. The other boy was a linemen, strong. Years on the team together had sculpted them into relatively good friends. Scheduled to go to the same college even; Mercutio for football and Carter as a doctor. Carter saw the shadows as well.

---

Standing up, Mercutio darted past an arrow. There were so many- how was he supposed to dodge these? He did his best to fend them off with his sword, but there was only so much he could do. Even the runic weapon crushed under the power of the arrows. His sword was gone in two swipes.

---

The moment he was offered to join the hunters he had done so. It wasn’t even a choice that needed considering. He was eighteen, young for a hunter, but he had enough desire to make up for it. He finally felt like he was fulfilling something in life- protecting Earth from the scary shadows. He wasn’t just a mindless pawn, put on the conveyor belt of society. He was getting s**t done.

Mercutio hadn’t come alone though, no. Carter had turned out to be a better friend than originally expected. They had come together, as friends, and ended up here as bros. At first being a hunter was fun. Fighting shadows, using his bulk to his advantage; it was fun. For the first time he felt like he was really doing something. He wasn’t just Mercutio, football wonder. He was Mercutio, defender of the universe (maybe his mind was blowing things out of proportion. Nevermind that).

Then came that mission.

---

What the hell was that thing? Mercutio found himself staring at … well what was it?! Arrows. Thousands of them. All pointed at him. Jeering at him, taunting him.

---
Hundreds of monsters. The small group that had joined up for a mission had vastly miscalculated. Their enemies were overwhelming them; a black cloud looming on the horizon. Hundreds and hundreds of monsters. There was no way they could take on that many.

“I’ll do it.”

“Cart, don’t be stupid,” Mercutio retorted.

“Then what the ******** am I supposed to be Merc? I’m sick of this s**t. Let me do it.”

“Don’t DO IT,” he screamed, his hands shaking. Quieter now, he said, “You can’t leave me.” At what point did this all start?

“I can. I have to.” Stubborn as ever.

“No look, we can go around th-” Mercutio began, but Carter had already run off. “CARTER. CARTER.” The sound of his screams were drowned out by the sound of the looming cloud.

A rougher, older voice now. “We have to pull back.” A radio static noise. “Prepare it.” Looking back to Mercutio, who was backing away, but not doing a good job. “Mer. Move it.”

Mercutio couldn’t even remember his feet taking him away.

---

“Oh honey!” a sing-song voiced cried out from the kitchen. Mercutio had handed her the letter, proud of his accomplishment, but oddly complacent. It was like this was planned from the beginning. He knew it was going to happen. Was that cockiness, or simple apathy?


His mother burst through the room in a whirlwind of hugging, to which Mercutio responded to with the appropriate whining and shrugging. His dad was smiling and chuckling like it was some sort of inside joke among the family. He was so proud of his son- his son. “Congratulations!” his mother said, smiling widely.

All Mercutio could respond was, “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

His dad looked at him sternly and said, “State college … I’ll be damned. This is great-“ Mercutio didn’t hear the rest as he was busy being smothered in another hug. He was on the fast track now- He would play for college, become a wild celebrity, lose the shadows and fade into history. It would be a cushioned life. He’d have it all.

So why hadn’t his malaise disappeared?

---

“WHY THE ******** DID YOU LET HIM GO?!” Mercutio roared at his superior. His mentor at the moment, an older man named Lucas, was in charge of the mission. He didn’t even care if they were orders. He didn’t care if Carter had volunteered to do it. “HE’S DEAD AND IT’S YOUR FAULT,” he screamed. The mentor gave excuses like, “It had to be done,” but Mercutio wasn’t stupid. He could tell it hurt his mentor as well. No one ever liked seeing someone die.

Later that night, Mercutio cried for the first time in his hunterdom. Not the sort of welling up tears that happens when watching Mufasa die, or when listening to a particularly heartstring-tugging song. Mercutio bawled. Wracking sobs that had him shoving his face in his pillow so that he didn’t wake anyone up. The next day his eyes were baggy, his shirt undone. He was a mess.

The mess never really stopped. Idle daydreams haunted him because he didn’t want to go back to reality. He attended Carter’s funeral without saying a single word. The hunters around him tried to console him, but the older ones didn’t seem to care. Death was part of the job. Now Merc understood why there were no elderly hunters. They all died, and he was on a track for the same place. The endless conveyor belt was back.

---

“s**t-” Merc let out a gasp as the arrows drew closer. In the moments before the arrows hit him, he regretted it all. No, that wasn’t quite correct. He regretted it all far before this. Maybe around the time Carter … left him. He didn’t want to be a hunter anymore. It wasn’t superheroes and bad guys anymore. It was pawns and chess. He was bored as a human, he was overworked as a hunter. There was no easy track. Rather, there was no deviating from the track. There was only the destination. He’d never had a choice in the first place, but if he did, he would’ve gone back to the football playing happy-go-lucky best friend of Carter. At least then he had a shot.

When had he gotten so old?

He would have accepted the scholarship, and played his heart out. After having a few girlfriends, he would find that perfect girl, and they would get married. Have kids. It would be mundane and boring, but you know what? It wouldn’t be this.

It wouldn’t be blood spatter. Carnage. Death. He tried to say “I’m sorry,” but the words wouldn’t come. All he could muster was a final cry that wracked his body as the first arrow hit, ripping the flesh right from his back. He reached out with an arm, and another arrow hit that. He was dead already, but the arrows weren’t done. Another hit his back again. Another his leg. The sheer force ripped him apart in a matter of seconds. His track hadn’t even had a chance to finish. It just ended.