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Pick Yer Poison · 07-30-2011, 05:45 AM

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The Contaminated creature, known to his friends in the pack of Contaminated creatures he lived in as Hurgrar, lowered his gaze and stared contemplatively at Digger. Like any untreated Contaminated, Hurgrar was about as intelligent as a particularly dim-witted dog, and about as friendly as a hungry wolverine. However, lacking as it may have been, Hurgrar had enough brainpower to realize that the creature in front of him looked a good deal different from his usual prey. As the pack's scout, he was aware that if he died, the pack would avoid the prey that had killed him, but he also knew that pack customs entitled him to the full prize if he killed it. He crept slowly towards the thing, jumping from car to car where necessary, survival instincts kicking in and causing him to poise himself to flee at a moment's notice if this strange new creature proved to be more than he had bargained for.

Digger, on the other hand, was quaking in his colonist surplus boots. It had only occurred to him that the advancing beast was interested in him after he had wasted several precious seconds watching its progress as it leaped from car to car, watching him constantly as it did so. He scrambled away along the asphalt, then after a few seconds stumbled to his feet, using a low-seated car's hood as leverage to enable him to keep moving as he did so. He leaned into the run, darting recklessly between the cars, not even stopping to look back to see if the thing was still following him.

Hurgrar bared his fangs gleefully. The concept of a fleeing meal caused his mind to give off a curious mix of endorphins and adrenaline, making him increasingly pumped and ecstatic the longer a chase went on. Not that Hurgrar knew any of this, or would even be able to comprehend any of it if he had had it explained to him; in fact, he'd most likely have started chewing on the speaker a few seconds into the explanation. All he knew was that he loved it when his prey ran, and he loved to prolong the chase until the prey simply refused to run any further. Then he ate it. He liked that part a lot too.

Digger was already getting tired. Having spent two years shoveling tough colonial soil in order to make graves had made him fairly strong - especially given the size of some of the alien graves he'd had to dig - but when it came to endurance running, he had a lot to learn, and no time to learn it. He'd wasted most of his energy in an initial sprint that hadn't actually gained him much ground, and he was moving noticeably slower after less than a minute of running. Had he cared to look back, he might have noticed that the beast had been matching his speed the entire time, intent on prolonging the chase until he ran out of stamina and collapsed, but he didn't even consider it for a moment, and thus never had the chance to notice. As he felt himself flagging, his mind began to churn, struggling to come up with a way out.

Confused, Hurgrar slowed down, squinting at his prey. It had been showing all the signs of stopping, but then without warning had turned around and hefted something that looked like it could be dangerous. Hurgrar snarled and bared his fangs again, this time not out of enjoyment, but in the hopes of intimidating his prey. The chase had stopped and his brain had stopped producing endorphins, and Hurgrar was not particularly happy about either of these things. Prey wasn't supposed to fight back - it was supposed to run until it couldn't run any more, and then he was supposed to eat it. That was how things worked. Why didn't this prey understand that? Hurgrar howled at it and leaped forward, intent on making his prey understand why it was supposed to run from him.

Adrenaline raced through Digger's body, and time seemed to slow down. He was painfully aware that the next several seconds would decide if he lived or died. He looked up at the creature leaping towards him - black, ugly, and fanged, it was a picture perfect nightmare. He steeled himself and gazed right back into its bright green eyes, letting it know he was prepared to fight for his life. Half a moment passed by, seeming to take several minutes to Digger's adrenaline-filled mind, and suddenly the creature was within range. He swung his shovel as hard as he could, slamming the flat side into the side of the creature's face. It let out a howl, but its path of motion didn't allow it to avoid colliding awkwardly with Digger. He screwed his eyes shut as the thing rammed into him, covering his front with the black tar and knocking him to the ground. Just as he was bracing himself for the end, a loud CRACK sounded, and Digger felt the weight of the beast vanish from his chest. He wiped the black gunk off of his face and sat up, opening his eyes, to see the beast running at a rapid clip away from him, smearing black gunk everywhere in its hurry. He stood up and looked around to see what had happened, and was surprised to see a human in some kind of suit not too far off, aiming a rifle at the retreating creature. Digger blinked, then hesitantly waved. "Uh, thanks, much," he called out.

A human girl popped up behind a car and pointed another rifle at Digger. "What the fuck're you?"

Digger blinked and slowly put his hands up in the air. Dyson had told him stories about people on Earth who pointed guns at others for various reasons, and he'd been told to do that if anyone pointed a gun at him and asked him a question. "I am Dan. I am a Shill. I speak English, but not very well." He spoke slowly and carefully, reciting the introductory speech from memory. "You can call me Digger," he added as an afterthought. He extended a black goop-covered hand towards the girl. "What your name?"

She eyed the hand, then lowered her rifle and stepped forward to shake it. "I'm Johnny, and you're the fourth weird thing that's happened today."