The Tocatta of the Hunt.

[Dillon T Jones]

First of all, imagine a land of life and death in the same breath. Growth so explosive it could overtake you in seconds and death so quick it killed as fast as you looked at it. Really, a testament to life that it could not only survive in such a place, but flourish. But what you had to understand about life is not that it finds a way. It is that life is greedy. Where there is power, life will get to it and eat it. Eventually, this bred larger and tougher life.

It should also be a testament to this place that it eventually drew the worst kind of life to it; Dillon.

Down in the deep parts in this land, the radiation would cook you in moments. Not just figuratively, but literally. Have you ever put a hot dog in the microwave? Yeah, like that. Of course, things had evolved to live in such a place, mean things. They clung to the sides of cliffs where large crystals jutted out. They swam in the rivers of purple-pink energy that flowed through the canyons. They ate the mutated mushrooms, that did not look like anything that could really be recognized as food, much less life. It was here two men walked.

Let’s talk about the Mark I combat armor. This brand was designed by the man himself, but that wasn’t anything special. Dillon designed most everything he killed with. By itself, Mark I armor was nothing very special. It was pretty much just evolved plate mail, when you got down to it. It was sturdy, to a point, but really most importantly it was sturdy and sealed. In Mark I armor a Mortal could walk on any planet in their realm, breath any air. In this way it was special in the way a can opener was special; Useless until you really needed to open a can.

It was black, as was the motif of Dillon’s armor of any kind. It pushed out in places were obvious pieces of some king of hard material protected from attacks. Loosely underneath was a sort of chainmail, even. The helmet was not that bulky, with a single curved pane of golden glass for a face looking out.

Somewhere down the line the two men were walking, a rather large crab like creature waded into the purple-pink colored river. The second man was about to say something with the first man brought the rifle to his shoulder. Without a sound, the back to the enormous crustacean exploded out. Bits of mutated chitin and flesh sizzling in the river. Disintegrating in seconds. The whole of the crab just, slouched down, as if unaware it had just been killed.

Words were exchanged between the pair. Outwardly, there was just complete silence. Speach was translated between the pair between whatever connection the armor had. The second man looked over to the first, as he eased the weapon down a bit. In that kill, the stride had never broken between the pair of them.

“This is a nice place you have brought me to.” From the second man across the wire. It was more a try to get the first man to explain why he had lead him apparently into some sort of Hell.

“It is not. But thank you for trying.” The first man responded with an easy going chuckle. Keeping up the pace until both of the men neared the shores of this flowing river. Neither of the pair got too close. After a moment, the first one brought his weapon above his head where magnetic forces pulled it from his grip and attached it to his back. Hands now free, fingers flexed and carefully moved forward. Both of the men were reading from hundreds of sources of data. Either displayed on the heads up display of the armor, or, sent straight to their minds. The second man looked around, slowly coming to the realization of what was happening here. Or, what would be happening.

“You can’t be serious.” The second one finally rumbled out, unbelieving.

The first man didn’t seem to hear him. Already kneeling near a collection of crystals near the shore. Their color matched the flowing river, almost perfectly. Without caution, a hand reached out and grabbed one. Whatever the armor was made of began to hiss, lightly. But it did not stop the hard yank that tore the crystal free. It’s weight was immense, but the first man held it easily as he turned back around.

“Matthew, 16:18.” The first man finally spoke, as he held the crystal that was sizzling and smoking his armor out towards the second. A moment of pause, before the first man spoke again.

“On this rock I will build my church and even the gates of Hell will not overcome it.”

A light toss of the crystal from the first man to the second. The second did not catch it. It stopped and hovered in mid air in front of the outstretched palm of the second. Hand was turned inward a bit, so he could get a better look at the crystal.

“This is what I was afraid of.” But the tone held a good bit of humor in it. After a moment, the crystal began to break down. Quite a bit like flesh in the river, bit by bit, it broke away into nothingness. Soon enough, there was nothing hovering in the air in front of the second man’s palm. The data was tasted and tested.

“I will need help.” The second finally spoke up. Outwardly, in the silence the visor turned to the first man pointedly.

“You will have help.” An immediate reply. The first man’s helmet nodded, slowly.

“And do I have to ask why we are doing this, or are you going to tell me?” The second man replied immediately, right back. For a moment, this seemed to catch the first man off guard. The helmet tilted, just a hair, before righting itself.

“Can you not smell it?” Came the easy reply. The second man took a look around, as if he needed to. But sometimes it felt good to scratch an itch. Down the river, one of the enormous crabs was fighting what appeared to be a glowing dinosaur. The second man’s sigh was audible over the line. He replied the best he could.

“Self contained environment, something went wrong? Zoo? A bunker?” To this question, the first man’s helmet shook gently. “Then what?”

“I don’t know.” The first man replied over the comm unit. Hand made a simple motion near the side of his head, two fingers gesturing back the way they came. Simple as that, both men began to walk in that direction. Hands still holding their weapons, despite the conversation. Up ahead, a trio of Utahraptors tried their best to hide amid the rocks and broken, mutated foliage. The problem being they were glowing a bit in places, themselves.

The second man brought up his rifle quicker than the first. In the span of a blink, all three of the dinosaurs fell to the ground like puppets who had their strings cut. The rifle was lowered with a bit of smug satisfaction, felt even through the armor. The first man huffed, and went on. As if this was enough to get more out of him.

“It feels like a bunker. But it feels wrong now… Feels like…” A moment as the first did the best to get his mind in order. Head turned to look at the corpses of the dinosaurs as they walked by, sensors feeding him an incredible amount of data. For a few milliseconds, he read through the DNA of such a creature. Then he was back to normal. Again, he did his best.

“I remember a house. Built by something that did not understand houses. I offered to help him, but it always told me ‘Your houses become fortresses’, which is true… but I never saw the problem with it. The sky was black and white, which I never found odd, in the fields though.. Just, rows and rows of the most beautiful golden wheat you had ever seen…” A moment as the memory took a bit of a hold and the first man had to fight it back to keep walking. The stress of being in such a place was a wonderful anchor. “That is what this place is. All these places… That is what it smells like.”

“Like… something odd?” The second man tried.

“Like a farm.” The last word had some venom to it.

There was silence then for a long time in this walk. Things sometimes had their attention shift to the pair of men, but the idle stride of a pair of soldiers never really slowed down. Eventually, their turns in the terrain became sharper. In this cavern, they were heading upwards and deeper into it. A place where at least the radiation did not reach, but still, not very safe. The rises came less and less, until the last one, where the second soldier saw something that made him stop in his steps for the first time.

On the back wall of this last cavern spread out an immense fortress. Walls seemingly made of metal pushed straight out from the rock. A mountain of metal in this cavern underground. Here and there towers stood out, to give better firing lines for the weapons that jutted from them. And the weapons… weapons everywhere. The second one muttered, almost without even knowing he was doing it.

“You make houses into fortresses, Dillon.” Hard to tell if the second man thought this was a curse or a blessing, though.

“Mmm. Worse. I make fortresses into people, Staten. And now I need to make fortresses into churches. Who better than a holy man to do that?” With a laugh, Dillon never stopped striding towards what should of been the front door of this fortress. A large shimmering portal of energy, surrounded by thick towers of the same metal. Already outside of it, stood a person. A man of average height and size, with a cut of sharp blonde hair. He stood there, arms crossed, almost impatiently. He wore no armor, but in this place, you needed none. That was the promise of a fortress built by a monster like Dillon.

“Everything all good?” Dillon asked, hands coming up to unlatch the helmet. With a slight hiss of pressurized air, it came loose and off. Showing the face and slightly sweat speckled white hair of the man. Dark eyes looked over to the blonde fellow with his question, armored fist offered out as a pound of knuckles in a casual hello.

This new person looked at the knuckles with a furrow of his brow, not understanding the motion. Dillon realized this and opened his fist to awkwardly pat the blonde haired man on the shoulder.

“Everything is… good, yes.” A stumbling of his words, mostly from Dillon actually touching him. The grin from Dillon turned up a notch, just to be a pain in the ass.

“Awesome. Don’t… fuck with him too much.” With a look over his shoulder to Staten, who was just now coming up to the pair. Undoing his helmet in a mirror of motions to Dillon. A hiss of air, and it was enough to pull it off his head. Mocha colored skin and a half fro of light brown hair. With a beard that might be even better and thicker than Dillon’s own.

“I intend to fuck with him a lot.” The blonde haired man grinned back to Dillon. Who laughed and walked away, into the fortress. There was a large, enclosed courtyard of sorts there. Another large space to keep open, as soldiers fell back to new defenses. In one spot though, there was an apparatus that was seemingly slapped down in the middle of the metal floor. Or perhaps, grown straight from it. Simple coils of metal were having energy pumped through them, turning them red hot. Heating the area so much, the waves from the air pulsated out. In the middle of them, sat an egg. So large, it was taller that Dillon when he strode up to it.

Staten and the blonde haired man came up on Dill, as he stood there, looking over the egg. Reading and eating through data with a grin curling his lips. Staten looked utterly confused. The blonde man looked smug.

“You wanted to know what I wanted Staten?” Dillon asked over his shoulder, still grinning “I think this place is a farm. For things so far beyond us, that they are Gods. A farm for Gods… where the harvest is Mortal life…” A snort of a small laugh. As if appreciating the audacity of it. Then he went on. “So, what I am going to do Staten, is hunt Gods. For that, I will need Faith.” Dillon turned back, grinning and stepping away from the egg.

“From that rock, you will build my church, Staten. And from this rock…” With a motion over his shoulder to the enormous egg. “...You will build my congregation.” The grin moved further upwards. Right, at the moment the egg cracked at the top. Something inside, moved hungrily. Both Staten and the blonde haired man, looked surprised. Dillon, just kept grinning like a mad man.

[Dillon T Jones]

The ‘Narrative’ theory of dimensions is the theory that, basically, a comic book or a TV show is a two dimensional being. Their stories play out in front of us, and we, as third dimensional beings can manipulate to any ends. Their stories are ours to play with. However, this brings up the question of Fourth dimensional beings. Those that would see our lives as stories on screens they could change and manipulate any way they wanted.

How would we as three dimensional beings ever understand those changes?

“See, this is kind of why I wanted to have a conversation, just me and you.” This was spoken by Dillon, as he stood in a lamplight bathed spot of concrete. A spliff smoked between his teeth, the cherry glowing with inhale and exhale. He spoke his words to a spot in space that was pure emptiness, but somehow, was looking right at… you.

“And, well this is the hard part to understand… but me, as who I am… this is the only way I can talk to you, through a story. The questions might be asked by someone else, but understand that I am talking to you, the person reading this.”

Okay, wait… You’re not supposed to do that. Breaking the fourth wall is funny and everything but it is really a cheap joke. It’s easy to do-

“That’s the guy that usually speaks for me. This is not about him and me though, reader. This is between you and me. And also him. And also everything else... It’s hard to get, I understand, but I believe in trying. Also, while we’re conversing, I’m gonna go beat the shit out of a bunch of other two dimensional creatures.” The lean on the lamp post ended with a push and Dillon moved over the concrete easily. Combat boots eating it all up as he crossed some commercial plaza towards a tall commercial tower.

And why are you doing this?

“Mmm, someone asked me. Someone I drink with… I forget her name.” A laugh then, hands dipping into jean pockets, half walking backwards so he could speak to the point of space that seemed to be, for the moment, the person reading this. “And I know what you are going to say next, ‘If this is only two dimensions, why does it matter’. From my perspective of time, and yours, if I did not do this, nothing would change… The story would just be some blank spot, like a nigh-infinite other stories that were never written.”

Then I can make this to be about whatever I want then?

“Well, yes. And no. As the story is being written as I do this…” Door opened on the large tower into a spacious and impressive lobby that Dill just barged into. Two men in suits on the far end stood up immediately and began using the usual buzzwords of having to stop, and leave. Dill didn’t even seem to hear him, he still spoke to that spot in the air as he walked up on them. “And this is where it does get a bit, conflicted. But stay with me here…” To the two guards, a mad man who was speaking to nothing was walking on them. The first put their hand on Dillon’s shoulder to stop it. Dillon without thinking brought both of his hands up to grab at the wrist and twist. The wet sounds of broken bones were heard.

“I mean, take these people for example. You see them as, things, not people. But in their two dimensional space, they have lives. They have parents, obviously, as we all know how biology works. They might have spouses, or children. This man’s pain…” Dillon gripped the shattered ulna and radius of the man sharper, the cries became louder. “Is in it’s own weird way, as important as yours.”

The other man watched this, wide eyed, as the man kept talking to nothing as he held his friend’s broken arm like it was nothing. Dillon’s dark eyes finally panned over to him to pin him down, just as the other guard brought his radio to his lips. But did not push down the mic, until Dillon nodded slowly.

“Breach, unknown person in the lobby. Send back up.” The other man gibbered out quickly, as he watched Dillon nod slowly.

“Also armed and dangerous.” Dillon rumbled out to the guard.

“Also, armed and dangerous.” The other guard breathed out before taking a deep gulp of an inhale.

“There we go. I want all of your A game tonight, thank you.” The man in Dillon’s grip had gone limp a moment ago, too much pain for his mind to take, so he had passed out. A release of the grip dropped the man to the ground.

“But does this matter?” Dillon turned to the spot, speaking to the reader once again. “I mean, it obviously does. Perhaps you like it so far, this story? Perhaps you dislike it? Hopefully so far it means something… Me, just coming in here and assaulting two random guards.” Speaking to the nothing, as he advanced on the terrified guard. Then, pounced. Smashing both men through the drywall to a hallway. A shove sent the man through the next wall, even if he already seemed knocked out. This left Dillon in the hallway, idly coughing at drywall dust.

It matters in the way stories matter.

“Exactly! Ahhh, I knew you would get it… And, while I might not remember this story quite well because I was very drunk at the time, the story made me… uncomfortable. It was a weird story I was told about this tower and the person on the top of it. And not a good weird.”

The story is false though, as I am writing it right now.

“But it isn’t. From my position right now, the story is playing out. I am living this. You are writing it, but I am the machine that is moving through it.” There was noise down the hall, from the door with the simple placard that read ‘Stairs’.

“I think that’s the stairs.” Dillon remarked but did not move.

It is.

“Mmm, how many people?” A question with a grin, curled at the nothingness. Asking for a cheat.

“Four, with guns.”

“Of course, I am armed and dangerous… Thank you.” The door to the stairs opened, with a rifle leading the way. The whole door was smashed by one of the annoying chairs that dotted commercial complexes. Gunfire erupted, thundered in the small space. Dillon ignored the ringing in his ears in mid charge to the open door. He hit it just about the man untangled himself of the chair and then was suddenly cannonballed by 250 points of man.

All four guards scattered from the force as the first of them was tossed into the room. Everyone tried to aim at something, but Dillon was already among them. The first turned a rifle towards the man and found a hand waiting on it to stop it. A knee went unceremoniously into the guards groin next, he immediately doubled over in pain.

Now come on, that was not cool.

“If he did not want to be kneed in the groin, he should of worn a cup... “ Dillon rumbled to the nothingness near him as ripped the rifle out of the man’s hands as he fell. The expensive weapon was used as a club to smash into the face of the next guard. The man crumpled over on the floor. It left one, that was holding his rifle away from Dillon, frozen in fear. The weapon was slapped out of his hands and he was held up against the wall by a single hand on his throat.

“In this manner, you begin to at least understand the base parts of me… You have to understand, it’s weird for me too. As I was once a two dimensional creature, that became a fourth dimensional one.”

The guard was just playing dumb though. With a quick movement he unstrapped the pistol on his thigh and fired point blank at Dillon’s face.

A hand snagged the wrist of the man with a serpent like speed, holding the weapon out. Close, but not near his face. The shots went off and ricocheted a bit around the stairway a bit, but did not hit either man. There was a deep grimace from Dillon at the sudden thunder.

“You trying to kill me now too?” Dillon spoke to the nothingness, as the terrified guard looked between the man and the weapon held in his hand, quite confused. “Good.” The hand on the man’s neck pulled and like it weighed nothing, it was flung over to the other wall to impact heavily. The man just folded up after the crash.

I have to keep the story interesting after all. We all have our parts to play. Now, you mentioned being fourth dimensional to my three dimensional?

“Oh, yeah. So… about that… I mean, I don’t know what happened and I can not prove shit about any of it so…” Dill spoke as he turned to the stairs and started climbing them rapidly.

So, that which is given without evidence can be dismissed without evidence?

“Ahhh, Voltaire. Cool dude, I doubled teamed some dude with him back in the day. Guy had an amazing penis.” More and more stairs taken, two or three at a time. The turn, then more, without slowing, even as he spoke.

That is neither here nor there, I can not speak on the person or his genitals.

“I just want that to be known. Voltaire was cool, also, he had a nice penis. I think people should know that. LIke it should be taught in history classes…” Dill stopped immediately in his ascent and put his back to the wall. A hail of bullets began to hit where he was and would have been. Flecks of metal cut into flesh here and there.

“Is this because of the Voltaire-penis comment?” Once again, asking the air as Dill hugged the wall. Yelling over the gunfire.

Partially. But all ascents up towers have to have forces put in place to stop the hero.

“Yes! The story! See, that’s important.” Even as Dillon, walked down the steps the way he came and opened a door to another floor. Obviously, not joining a fight on the stairs.

And yet you do that.

“But that is the point. This is about you, and me. The person reading this and me as a character in the story. This is a conversation between us, as best as I can do.” Speaking up as he moved around rows and rows of dusty, empty cubicles. Not really moving that fast, just a brisk walk.

But you are here in the story where you should not be, or perhaps, could be better used somewhere else?

“That’s me though, that is not here or there. That is about me. I would rather be the man who did something rather than the man who did nothing.” Sounds were coming from the stairwell. Footfalls on metal, Dillon did not pick up his speed. “Just like what is coming is not about your enjoyment, but about mine. But perhaps you will enjoy… Does it help to know these people are monsters?” Asking, as the man eased into a cubicle and ducked down.

Do you have any evidence of them being monsters?

“Does it matter? They smell like food. And I only eat monsters…” Dill rumbled to the air as the stairway door slammed open. People in body armor and weapons flowed out. Spreading to grab up as much area under overwatch as they could.

I really don’t know if it matters or not anymore. I am into this and it’s more about how I have to finish rather than if you do.

“But that works too. If you don’t finish, does this matter? It would just be another empty spot. But here and now, it’s a conversation between two people far, far away.” Whispered, in the man’s hiding spot. He was taut, ready. Waited for the moment. It came too soon.

“Identify yourself!” One of the armored guards yelled out. Dillon laughed and looked right at the empty nothingness, to capture his eyes with the Reader.

“Go fuck yourself!” With a grin and a roar. The answer was gunfire. Everything around him shredded. LIke an animal, the man scrambled on all fours to get away. A round flicked off his shoulder, spurting blood. It did not slow him one bit. The Hunters, with green eyes for night vision goggles, kept pouring it on. Leveling the whole room in gunfire, but the beast was moving too quick. He got behind a concrete pillar and put his weight to it. It was then in his minor protection he felt the pain bloom from his shoulder. To it, Dill laughed.

Now, about this fourth dimensional creature-

“You know what the joke is Reader? He doesn’t know what I ate.” Another laugh, as the pain rolled. Behind the pillar, forms began to move in. Easily hearing the man speaking to nothing in the air. “That’s funny. The person who writes my stories not even knowing what happened… Why it’s you reading this and not a cockroach, or a squid, or a cow or something. Why I care so much about something as useless as a story. And how I can do things like this?” A grin, and Dill leaned just enough to show what he was leaning on. A light switch. A bloody hand moved to snap it on. The fluorescent bulbs crackled, flicking into bare light and growing. But it was enough.

The cries from the guards were in unison as their goggles took the light coming in and amplified it. It was much, much worse than staring into the sun. They were blinded. Then Dillon was on them. Some fired off their guns randomly, but they were never close. A fist met a face. A boot kicked out the feet of another. An elbow caught someone where they did not want an elbow. Very quickly it was all over, and there was nothing but Dillon standing among bodies that were not moving. A rumble of a pleased growl, then he moved off back towards the steps.

You can not take power over what I write. There is such a thing as cause and effect.

“Is there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, there is… but this hit in my shoulder hurts like a mother fucker, and here in a little bit, I’m going to take your power away. So I mean, my cause and effect is more powerful than yours.” Back to the stairs and climbing them, now each pace came with a grimace, even as the hand from his now wounded shoulder grabbed the railing, leaving a mark of blood on the metal every pace.

You can’t take power away from the writer.

“I can’t? That’s again, one of the points here. I am a Monster. Not like the one under your bed as a child, but one that hunts from every place, and in every space. This tower is a tower, but it could be any tower. It could be a tower in your home town, filled with monsters… but I will come and eat all of them eventually.” More and more floors sped by, the man’s wound not slowing him down, grimace or not.

But the story is coming to an end.

“Yes, it is. Unfortunately, this had to come…” Speaking as he came up to the last door. No pause, he went through it into the night of the rooftop. Across the way, a helicopter was already spinning it’s blades. Five men moved quickly towards it, but with the slamming open of the rooftop door, all turned. One yelled something, unheard over the helicopter, but the other four men in dress suits aimed weapons Dillon’s way.

“Remember this though, reader… even though we’ve had this conversation and you learned something about me… Know that, I eat all monsters. Mine, or yours.” One of the guards shouted something. Dillon gave a middle finger over that way and kept walking forward. When the first shot rang out, the man was diving to cover as the other four did their best to kill him.

“It’s not about the writer and me anymore. It’s about me and you, Reader. Know that I am Dillon Jones, and if you have monsters in your life, I will be coming to eat them. No matter how dark the darkness, no matter how hard the fight… you are not alone. I will be there.” With a deep grin to the nothingness as fingers gripped around a half brick of debris at his feet. A twist and a turn and without even seeing what he was throwing at, hurled the brick.

It caught the spinning blades of the helicopter perfectly, sparks showered as metal met rock and neither came away nicely from the exchange. The blades went unbalanced, the helo shifted side to side. Everyone looked back, more concerned of being cut in half than one man. Which was their problem, as Dillon make out of the low rock cover of an AC unit and was on the men with firearms.

The first got punched in the face with the force of a man Dillon’s size in full sprint. The jaw shattered under the knuckles. The other three turned back and readied to open fire, but just found Dillon holding up the unconscious body of their body between them. Their hesitancy was devoured. A step and the knocked out form was tossed over at one as Dill snapped out at another. Just as body awkwardly hit the man, Dill was on the other, smashing fist out once again to break nose in a brutal blow. The only one up got a line and fired, but the step Dillon moved out of the way of the bullet was always forward, at him. Gun kept firing as man met man, and one went down under the other’s tackle. The man was out when he hit the ground, leaving Dill to roll off of him and stand like nothing happened. A moment was taken out, to give a swift kick to the form of the last one, pinned under his buddy.

This left just the man, trying to back away from the helicopter while trying to move towards it. In a dangerous position to be, between beast and machine. There wasn’t even much of a sprint until Dill was on him, picking him up by the neck in both hands. Slamming his form against the door of the helo he was just looking to get into. Protective glass crackled.

“Now, dear Reader… Comes your part. After all, who am I to tell you all about me, without learning something about you.” The man under his grip twisted and gasped for air that was not coming. Dillon did not let up.

“This man is a monster. I smell it on him from head to toe… He’s hurt, killed, destroyed. His currency is pain is his market, it is you and me. This man is the monster that was under your bed. This man is the monster that is in your life, right now.” Another shift as the man was a pure face of terror. Caught now between Dillon’s grip and the insane fact the man was apparently, speaking to nothing. But there was no air coming for him to speak.

“What should I do with him? Should I kill? Should I eat? Should I torture? Should I redeem? That’s where you come in, Reader… You tell me what I should do with monsters…” That maniac grin from Dillon moved back to the man he had pinned. As hands clenched harder. As protective glass cracked more from the force of the man being shoved against it. “And thank you, for this conversation…” Growled out, harshly, right at the man he had pinned…