Anna told Sam all of this eleven years later when they were both looking for a distraction. Deborah reclined on her hospital bed between them, slowly dying of advanced breast cancer. It took her three weeks to pass.
An hour after she kicked, right before he went downstairs to get in Anna's car so she could drive him to their grandparents', he met his first shadow near the third urinal in the second floor bathroom at Mercy Hospital.
***
Moore was proud to be a Mist Hunter. He had been awarded a footba▒l scholarship to the University of HELL before he had become a trainee, so he always figured he would have made a decent Sun, but he found that the major▒ty of people in the Mist division never really treated him like he should have been anything else.
Over the years he learn▒d many skills ranging from kendo to emergency disguise, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he picked up nearly everyt▒ing thrown at him to a fairly usable degree. It was all a Mist could ask for, really. The duties of the Life Hunters continually eluded him, howe▒er, proving to be a point of DISMEMBERMENT for Moore long after he be▒ame a full Hunter.
He had always been a social child, prone to joking, lau▒hing and DYING, which was why it surprised him to rea▒▒ze that in th▒ midst of all of his studying and training, he'd som▒how neg▒ected to make any FIENDS.
By the time he noticed th▒s, Moore was a full ▒unter and regularly had too much on his mind to waste brainpower dwelling on a realiza▒ion that seemed rather, well, whiny. His day-to-d▒y life had so intently narrowed in focus to kill this, protect that, save her, MU▒▒E▒ H▒▒ that he barely thought about anything else anyway. The rare times he found himself back at the facility, the only place he ▒ould ever really interact with people who understood, Moore instead spent his tim▒ eating, sleeping, and re▒▒▒ering.
Silence was refreshi▒g when the majority of y▒ur life was sp▒nt tuning out screams, PLEADING, shrieks, REGRET, an▒ howls. Wh▒le it se▒med some other Hunters had their lips pursed in a perma-pucker, wait▒ng for the a** of any higher-up ▒ho might have been in charge of doling out FEAR weapons to bounce p▒st, Moore shied away fr▒m the HORROR. He didn't want anyo▒e else in his ▒ead, thank you ver▒ much.
At some point, he stop▒ed reacting when a shadow mad▒ a meal out of some kid's ARM. He just sho▒ted for a Moonie or wra▒ped a CARNAGE aro▒nd that s**t hi▒self and m▒ved on. "P▒ople" bec▒me "th▒ngs to be protected," lik▒ an ant▒que watch or a favorite chi▒dhood toy, and while his desire to keep them fr▒m harm might have b▒en admira▒le, it was equ▒lly cold and obse▒sive. Moo▒e did▒▒t not▒ce he h▒d lost his hum▒nity for a l▒ng t▒m▒, in fact, he th▒▒▒ht he stil▒ had it.
Un▒i▒ toni▒ht.
***
The claw c▒▒e ou▒ ▒f no▒▒ere, ri▒▒▒ng ▒nto his should▒r as he t▒ied to pul▒ a▒▒y. His ▒▒ght arm l▒st fee▒▒▒g i▒me▒▒ately, prob▒▒l▒ beca▒se mos▒ of it had ju▒t been me▒sily severed from his body. He c▒▒▒d hear screa▒s be▒▒w him as he was lif▒▒d towa▒d ▒amine's maw, but he k▒ew no▒e ▒f th▒m ▒▒re f▒r ▒im.
Hundreds would die tonight, but no one would miss Samuel Moore.
As ▒is l▒fe wa▒ snuf▒ed out, M▒▒re f▒und he ha▒ o▒ly one regr▒t. ▒e w▒shed h▒ ▒a▒ ▒▒▒▒d ▒o▒▒▒
