THE EYES OF THE PREDATOR

A soft groan echoed through the office as the doorknob turned and pushed open with a creak. Haturii, easily recognized by his light goatee, developed eye bags, and worn-out appearance, stepped through the door. He moved towards the two other police officers who sat at the table, engrossed in the comically masculine activity of playing poker and drinking. Before you judge them for it, do remember that if your job involved maintaining law and order or aiding the isolation and containment of various anomalies, you'd probably drink too.

Sometimes, these retrieval events are uneventful. Other times, not so much, especially when they're dealing with brutal forces of nature. But then again, their job was about to get a little more stressful.

"Welcome back," one of the officers greeted as Haturii walked in.

"So, how did it go?" The other asked.

Haturii, his eyes weary, let out his signature tired sigh and dropped the thick portfolios given to him on the office table. This made the two officers exchange glances before looking back at him.

"That bad, huh?" The officer stated.

The man across from them now picked up, "Notify the Claives on patrol. We've got a rogue anomaly on the loose, containment cell 096. A type-H humanoid-like." The words left Haturii's lips in his usual blasé and unenthusiastic tone.

"Right!" The first officer responded, heading out of the office.

"What, again?! Not just another attempt, but it got loose this time? Those people could never hold these damn things down," the other officer grumbled, reaching for the files on the table. The little stack of thin papers, small and yet crucial, held bound by a single staple in the top left corner. "So how dangerous is this one now?" He asked.

He opened the folder, finding nothing on the cover but the Foundation's logo printed on its surface in simple black design. He skimmed over the long, dry paragraphs that say nothing at all and seem to be in every Foundation report for some reason.

Ah, there it is.

Contents.

"RSCP-004, eh? Let's see... Able to produce heat signatures rivaling that of the sun," he read aloud before closing the folder almost as quickly. "Okay, now, we sure do have our hands full with this one. Wouldn't you say?" He added snarkily. "Oh, and what about the two troublemaker kids you've got babysitting?" The officer continued. "Orange and Yukimo, was it?"

"It's Orenji and Yukira," Haturii corrected morosely, fatigue evident in his tone.

"Right. Right. I never do seem to get their names right, do I?"

"No, you don't. I gave them the day off," Haturii replied. "Keeps them on the low end, to keep their minds at ease and off these things for a while."

"Yeah? Or maybe you just don't want them getting in the way."

"I don't want them getting involved," Haturii answered. "I don't want them getting hurt. Category 3s? Not something you'd expect break out every now and then."

"Yeah, very true," the officer replied, pouring himself a glass from the decanter of whiskey and downing the entire pour in one go—a blatant breach of workplace professionalism. "But man, quitting on a first mission? That's a damn shame. Imagine the disgrace, the undying shame they'd live with the rest of their lives. Poor kids," he said almost nonchalantly, putting the folder back on the table. "Welp, they'd better get used to it then."

"Hey, hey, hold on now. What's that supposed to mean?" Haturii responded quickly. "They're not quitting! They're just staying off things for a while."

"Uh-huh. Sure, buddy. You keep telling yourself that. Wouldn't be surprised if those little delinquents of yours disobey orders."

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, come on, don't pretend we weren't like that at their age," the man said, standing and walking casually to Haturii, stumbling a couple of times. He threw his arm over Haturii's shoulders. "Remember? I the ever-so-manly, and you the wimpy one, running around causing trouble, disobeying orders. Such delinquents we were back then. Good times, good times."

"Yeah, well, that's all in the past now," Haturii responded, shrugging the man's arm off and heading for the door.

"Hey, why so stuck up? Don't be such a downer, man, come on!" He called out, his eyes glazed over. "I mean, sure, that was a long time ago, but still—what happened to you, Haturii? You used to be interesting, not the stuck-up type I know now."

Haturii stopped in his tracks, the door right in front of him. Gripping the cool brass knob, he turned to look at the man with those flat, fatigued eyes of his caused by a lack of sleep. "You're wasted, Emmett," he said plainly, opening the door and walking out, leaving Emmett to ponder his words as the door closed behind him.

RSCP-004, as far as Deputy Haturii could tell, was the more traditional kind of toxic. He'd been briefed using the RSCP-004 infopack, a heavily redacted description of the anomaly. The pressure was on, with the Site Director growing more impatient by the moment. Every minute counted, and Haturii was painfully aware of time slipping away. Though he couldn't possibly fathom why she'd need a Kaiju like this killed with such urgency, it was crucial to keep all Foundation activity around RSCP-004 under wraps.

Haturii had no idea of the true value of the anomaly he and his small team would head out for. But he would, in time.

The man gulped down the rest of his beer. "Boo..." He uttered upon his dear friend's departure.

****

Humans dread the unknown.

And what they dread, they label evil. What they judge as evil, they attempt to control. And what they cannot control…

They destroy.

And dare I say, this is the world through my own eyes!

Unlike most days, the sun wavered at a rather nice spot in the sky, beaming with great light, it's rays flooding the town- Stonehaven.

The air sure is different here, the Kaiju thought. The occasional rare anomaly that was just a completely harmless oddity, not a monstrous abomination.

Hidden beneath the woven threads of a yellow hoodie with gray-coloured sleeves and an ashen visor cap, the boy found himself in a place he had no idea where. He ventured across the street in endless thoughts. His disguise was a necessity, hiding physical features that could prove to him a disadvantage. What is this place? As he walked, a barrage of memories assaulted him. I don't remember this happening...! He thought the words. Vague images of the Foundation surfaced--moments of utter chaos where he had instinctively incapacitated armed containment units, broken through a glass window, shattering it into several shards of glass and dropping straight on his shoulder. God, even that hurt! In mere seconds, all the taskforce operatives sent to "slow him down" lay strewn across the room, broken, injured, unconscious. All I remember is how I felt at the time. He proceeded with the ruminations. Moments prior, with a fierce kick to the chest, he had sent a Foundation operative crashing against a wall with the majority of his ribs severly broken. Revved by a sudden bloodlust, the Kaiju had turned to face the others, a grin of madness spread across his face.

His memories were long but formless, divided mostly into ten minute increments.

Although, he seemed to just be chaotically flinging MTF operatives around rather than deploy any form of actual technique whatever, his kicks and punches packing the force of a freight train and then some. Now, there he was apparently. He raised his head, squeezing his eyes tight shut, teeth gritted in pain and frustration. A slight cut on his lower lip bled, a single drop visible. Five. He opened his eyes. Exactly five metres, it had been. That's how far he'd fallen. About half the height of an olympic diving board, only there was no pool at the bottom, Just the white powder of snow soft enough to cushion his fall.

One would tread past and think him, the body there on the snow-ridden ground, some kind of roadkill, but it was infact a Kaiju. A boy Kaiju, whose body slowly and painfully, over the course of seconds, pushed every one of the 247 bullets out of itself and got to work stitching itself back together as he lay there in searing pain.

His vision blurred the whole while, the edges of his surroundings warped and distorted as fear and panic clouded his perception, and though his mind had a million things for him to do, his eyelids kept pulling shut.

Getting up seemed almost more effort than it was worth.

If he just rested his eyes for at least a moment or two, he'd be okay, his body told him through the pain. He'd be fine, but he had to resist the urge now, more than ever, if he were to survive.

There! Was the affirmation, finally. Bleeding... stemmed.

Vision swirling, he could feel his breath hitch at his throat as his vision re-centered itself. He rallied to his feet as quickly as he had fallen, grunting with the effort, and began his escape on the soft snow under him. He threw an arm up to shield his eyes, his chin tucked into his chest in an effort to escape the cold, vile wind.