January the 2nd, 2015 - Somewhere in Africa
The flight had sucked.
Howell and Art travelled in second class. Fucking second class. The shithole where all the common scum got sent so they wouldn't disturb the actually important passengers. Where babies cried and the brat behind him wouldn't stop kicking his seat.
Before they departed, his father had explained that such drastic measures were necessary. No one should know their destination, or that they were going anywhere at all. Understanding this, Art abstained from voicing his complains. But at the inside he was fuming until they landed, distracting himself by watching his favorite movie - Jaws - on the TV build into the seat in front of him.
Thankfully, he knew that this embarrassment would be rewarded very soon.
October the 17th, 2022 - Severniy Norin
The rooftop of the building proved to be a nice spot to sit down and get some more drawing done. Art found a nice, somewhat sheltered spot between parts of the ventilation system giving him some shelter from the snow and wind as well as a nice vantage point overseeing the whole plaza. Under more favorable circumstances, he would have enjoyed it more.
Instead, he focused on finishing his next masterpiece.
Personal interest made him extra invested, but also more cautious. As a result, Art took longer than usual.
But now, after almost ten hours of work, the picture combining past and future events into one was almost complete.
January the 3nd, 2015 - Somewhere in Africa
The hotel had sucked even more.
Of course they stayed in a shabby one. Wouldn't make sense to blow their cover of being commoners now, after all. Art still hated it.
On the trip with the jeep however, his mood improved vastly as they got closer to their destination.
The group of natives leading them into the wildness of the desert were bulky, armed men who had visibly eased up once Howell presented them the briefcase filled with money. One of them spoke broken english, the others remained silent. Or at least Art remembered it being broken. His 15-year-old self didn't care for such details and his memories reverted to the option he found more plausible.
On the way to the cave where his prey was, the one talking guy spoke a bit to Howell, with Art listening in. Apparently there had been some complications. The lion had injured one of the henchmen and scratched a jeep. For that reason, the men had been forced to use more force than normal to make the beast ready for Art.
Hearing this pleased Art a lot. It appeared that his birthday present was a splendid specimen. An apex predator. A ruler of the savanna. A representation of mother nature's stronger side. Soon it would fall to humanity's superiority, just like the great white in Jaws. And it was Art who would pull the trigger.
October the 17th, 2022 - Severniy Norin
It happened while Art was waiting for his MRE to heat up.
The loud clicking noise echoed through the plaza, unmistakingly originating from the statue of Lenin. Looking closer revealed some movements, so Art opened the photo--mode of his tablet and zoomed in.
Some sort of black liquid was quilling out of the statue’s right eye, as if it was crying. In front of the statue, the liquid coagulated into some sort of tumbleweed. Once the last of the liquid had reached the ground, the blob remained still for a few seconds, as if unsure what to do next. Then it suddenly started rolling away, quickly picking up speed. Soon it was out of sight.
Art kept staring in the direction it had left.
Then he scoffed in disapproval.
This had to be one of the other two prototypes. Vermiculus or Revenant. Well, it was nothing that would have caught Art’s interest. Just a bunch of weirdass nanomachines.
He had much bigger fish to fry.
January the 3nd, 2015 - Somewhere in Africa
It was time.
Art lay on his belly, both hands steady around the rifle. His father was right next to him. Neither had spoken a single word during the last twenty minutes.
About one hundred feet in front of him was the cave where the lion had been lured in yesterday. A bunch of fresh meat in front of the entrance would lure him back out. Right in front of Art’s scope.
He was just as nervous as he was excited.
This hunt would be different from shooting the wild game at home. A lion was a hunter, just like him. This would be a battle between two predators, not between predator and prey.
And there it came.
Out of the shadows, a creature emerged. Walking on his four paws, the lion…
… seemed to be limping?
Art blinked. Then he took a very close look at the lion. What he saw was deeply devastating.
The lion was old, missing large parts of his mane. It’s left hind leg was bleeding, apparently having been shot not too long ago. There were a few other wounds, some older, some fresh. Most importantly, the beast was clearly out of it. His eyes stared lifelessly at the bait as if it was unsure what to do with it. Eventually it made its way and began eating without even looking around for enemies.
This lion might have been the king of the savanna years ago, but now it was just an old man, long past his prime, wounded and drugged to quell any possible danger.
Shocked, Art looked over to his father, hoping for him to reveal the prank so they could both have a laugh and then go to where the real lion was.
But his father was staring at the lion with expectant eyes, obviously not wanting to miss the moment Art’s bullet hit.
It was then that Art realized he had been let down. The epic fight between two predators had just been his wild imagination. Either his father didn’t think he could handle a lion or he didn’t want to take any risk. In any case, all Art got was a walking corpse that even a baby could finish off.
His disappointment was immeasurable and his day was ruined.
But Art knew he couldn’t oppose his father. Howell’s actions were horrible, but they were still out of goodwill. Plus he had seen his father angry before. So he took the shot.
Bullseye.
October the 17th, 2022 - Severniy Norin
Even years later, Art vividly remembered this day.
He remembered how he did his best to smile for the camera as he posed, rifle in hands and one foot one the dead lion. He remembered how he thanked his father for this opportunity, and how his father congratulated him. He remembered how the natives skinned the lion, a process which Art would have been very interested in doing himself. He remembered how he was seething the entire time on the way back, the three horrible Jaws-sequels he binged doing little to calm him down.
The lion’s fur was now a carpet in his old room back in the house of his parents, the picture of him with the lion hanging right next to it. Again, this had been a noble act from his father. But for Art, this was just a reminder of the biggest disappointment in his life.
The only good thing this day gave him was a new goal in life. Art wanted to hunt a real lion. A lion that hadn’t been sedated or wounded or lured by anyone else. A lion that was young and would fight back with everything it had. A true predator.
But even this dream was history the moment he set a foot on this island. Because now, he had found something much better than a boring, ordinary lion. The true born predator, tailor-made for the ultimate fight between man and beast.
Satisfied, he looked at the picture he had drawn over the day. It showed him standing above a corpse in the same pose he showed in the picture with the lion. Only that he was holding a KS-23 instead of a rifle. And that he was standing in a snowy field instead of a desert.
And, of course, that it was the Chimera who lay dead to his feet.
((Arthur “Art” Miles continued in Nightcrawlers))