"You're pushing your luck Jax," Mick whispered. "One of these days Frank will have enough of your lip. He won't just fire you. He'll strand you out here without an oxygen mask. I mean, seriously, its like you almost want him to."

"Nah. Just me having fun with him."

"Yeah right." Mick's bullshit detector was at an all time high. "You and me. We're having it out when we get back."

"Fine. But first, Shrieks."

Mick shook his head. He couldn't help but grin at Jaxson's twisted sense of humor. He had wanted to laugh back in the Skimmer but he thought getting into trouble wouldn't be worth it. He also knew Jaxson hadn't been sleeping well for some time so he had been keeping a close eye on him.

Sleep deprived people made mistakes and Jaxson was no exception.

They separated at the edge of the woods where the undergrowth was thickest. "Meet you back at the Skimmer in thirty," Mick said.

Jaxson nodded. "See you in thirty." They elbow bumped then went their separate ways.

Jaxson headed North while Mick headed west. His oxygen mask rasped with his breath. Sounds of the wilderness were all around. Alien sounds with alien animals making chittering, whoosing, and a sound that coupled moans and growls resounded through the forest. But the one sound he listened for the most was the telltale clicks of the throat breathing Shrieks.

He adjusted his rifle to shoulder height. Anticipation soared. He was in his element. Bagging Shrieks was his life. There was nothing better than watching their heads get blown off. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than knowing there was one less Shriek in the world.

Revenge had a great deal to do with Jaxson's success at hunting. They killed his parents so the sons of bitches had to die. He made it his personal vendetta to wipe them all out.

His parents weren't hunters but anthropologists and xenologists. They desired to learn about the Shrieks. Understand their social complexity. Learn Shriek language, discover if they were sentient or just driven by instinct to survive on a world that wasn't theirs.

His parents believed if they could just crack the code as it were, of the Shriek for the lack of a better word, culture, then misunderstanding would cease.

Perhaps dialogue could be opened. Once the language barrier was down, then a truce could be made.

His parents never got the chance. The Shrieks killed them. Jaxson had been eight years old at the time. Old enough to be invited on an expedition. Old enough to witness Shriek brutality. Old enough to vow his revenge upon his parents deaths.

As always, whenever Jaxson hunted, his thoughts went to that fatal night when their Skimmer broke down. His father had left the Skimmer in attempt to fix the engine.

What started as a low whine soon increased to an higher than the human range frequencies that tore through Jaxson's eardrums. Inside his head was a never ending gonging sound like a bell on top of the Throp's town tower.

He succumbed quickly, unable to hear his parents screams. Blood poured out of his nose as the onslaught rendered him paralyzed.

Just as abruptly, the gongs stopped in his head. Weakened, he managed to get out of the Skimmer but wished he hadn't. For the rest of his life, the image of parents torn apart to unrecognizable shapes was burned in his brain.

His screams echoed in the wilderness as he ran to them. He struggled to help them despite the fact they were beyond his help. Only the fear of the Shrieks coming back to finish him off drove him back into the Skimmer.

He sat for hours inside, numb. Unable to move or even think, he cried until he couldn't anymore, subsiding into a dazed stupor.

For some reason, the Shrieks never returned. They left him to his grief and the very terrifying thought that he was alone in the world.

It was the arrival of the Skimmer Patrols that saved him. When his parents never responded to repeated calls, Patrol squads were sent out. By the time they arrived, there was no trace of his parents bodies.

Jaxson was rescued but he was too canatonic to answer their questions. The only thought he had was the burning desire to avenge his parents. That thought fueled his days until he was old enough to become a Ghost.

Everything in his life, including school, involved learning how to fight Shrieks. He had a singular purpose for which he trained every day of his life.

Now he was Throp 41's best hunter. He could be counted on bagging ten Shrieks a night on average. He was paid in both accolades and what passed for money in this world. He desired neither, only the satisfaction of vengeance fulfilled.

The burning hatred within fueled him now as he strode through the forest. He walked heel to toe, his APK rifle locked and loaded. Nobody messed with him when he took on his hunter persona.

Not even Frank dared to get in his way.

His eyes were sharp and clear. Despite the fact that hunters had to wear infrared goggles just to see in the infinite Void, Jaxson had no use for them. He could see just fine. So he never bothered to wear them.

He did wear the oxygen mask. No sense in running the risk of his lungs imploding. Despite the fact that as that scared little nine year old he had breathed lung fulls of the toxic air and had been none the worst for wear, he continued to wear the mask.

Up ahead, he noted several fresh leaves torn off the branches. Shrieks. They favored the enormous leaves of the trees that were not native to Earth. Whoever dumped the Shrieks also unloaded seedlings that quickly killed all of Earth vegetation.

Luminous, the vegetation gave off a toxic scent of chemicals that burned human lungs. Jaxson could see by the phosphorus tint on the trees. He
learned to trace Shrieks in the thick undergrowth. Their footprints were largely nonexistent as they moved too fast to leave behind indentations in the muddy forest floor.

Cold vapor clung to his skin, hair and clothing. While he wore armor to protect his most vulnerable parts, he had to have freedom of movement.

He followed the trail of broken leaves. Judging by the number of plants decimated, he assumed there was at least three Shrieks in the vicinity.

He clicked on the music in his headset for added protection. The voices in his mind turned into a dull roar allowing him to concentrate on the hunt.

He scanned the area following the twisting, winding trail. At one point, the three Shrieks had climbed a tree and jumped from tree to tree to better facilitate their speed.

Jaxson stuck to the ground, not wasting his time and energy. He picked up the trail two clicks later.

Blood hummed in his ears. Adrenaline rushed through his body. He was about to bag his first Shriek of the night. The kills were addicting.

Mick often pointed out that fact after a victorious hunt when the high he felt reduced and he came back down with a crash.

It was better than drugs, which is why he often thought of sneaking out of the Throp to hunt on his own. He never did but the desire was so strong at times he had to resort to sanctioned cage combat fighting with squad members from other Throps to alleviate the desire. It was how he met Mick.

As he told Mick often, he'd rest when all the Shrieks were dead.

He could hear them now. Both in his head and with his ears. Getting close.

The voices clamored. The gongs increased. Ultimately, he was able to block them but after being assaulted these past months, his ability to regulate the noise to the background was impaired.

Keep it together.

He tightened his grip on his rifle and turned up the volume. His mother had a collection of twentieth and twenty first century music that he digitized to fit a computer chip no bigger than the seeds he used to help plant on his Grandfather's farm.

It wasn't enough. The alien assault churned his stomach. Upset his vitals to the point where he couldn't breathe properly. The closer he got to his prey, the worst his body betrayed him.

This had never happened before. He shook his head to clear his vision.

Focus.

With renewed determination, he clamped down on his nerves, determined to be the first to bag a live Shriek. What a tale he would tell back home.

Past the thick underbrush, he came into a little clearing. With the sun no longer in existence, the moon was virtually undetectable. Yet Jaxson looked up anyway.

Stars still shone in the gap between the tree tops. As he often had done as a child, he wondered from which star had the Shrieks come.

The distraction proved to be his undoing. The three Shrieks pounced on him from different angles. Years of kickboxing and ring fighting had honed his strength and reflexes.

He kicked one in the middle of its body, brained the other in the head with his fists. The third leaped onto his chest and held him down but not for long. He quickly rolled over, knocking the Shriek off him.

Shrieks were double jointed, had low muscle mass and triangular shaped head with four eyes, two on each side. Their knees bent backward and their arms had wide wingspans. Slits in their necks took in the air and exude white vapor. Their mouths contained sharp pointed teeth, the better able to tear through tough vegetation and human flesh.

Jaxson punched it in the face, chest and stomach region. The Shriek remained unfazed. He'd never fought hand to hand combat with one before let alone three. Shriek skin was slimy and slippery. He couldn't land a solid punch packed with enough force to knock the Shriek off him. His knuckles became so filmy with slime they slid on the Shriek's skin.

Jaxson regrouped. He went low, tackling it by the legs. The Shriek went down, landing on its back with a screech that pierced his eardrums.

By this time, the other two had recovered. They jumped him from behind. Jaxson went down on his knees, the combination of their weight crushed him face first into the dirt.

His oxygen mask came off. Upon the first inhale of toxic air he went into spasmodic shock. He coughed up white vapor without the benefit of relief of oxygen. Blindly, he groped for his mask. His fingers knicked it sending it further out of his reach.

Darkness clouded his vision. He couldn't get a decent breath into his burning lungs. While implosion was theoretical, nobody had lived long enough to accurately describe the sensation of breathing alien air, Jaxson was learning first hand how wrong that theory was.

Instead, his lungs burned like acid reflux from eating too many hot peppers yet he still breathed. He coughed, gasped and coughed some more.

Anger and hatred burned. "What are you waiting for?" He rasped. "Kill me." He doubled over, coughing so hard he felt like his lungs were going to come through his mouth.

Weakened, Jaxson was helpless. He couldn't summon the strength to fight. He had no oxygen to breathe. He slowly succumbed to the toxic air.

The Shrieks watched him, fascinated. They made no move to help, just eyed him as if he were a specimen to be observed. Prey was what he was to them.

Cold hearted sons of bit--

He succumbed to the darkness before he could finish the thought.