My morning started with the coarse crowing of a rooster somewhere off in the distance. Goddamn chickens, incessantly noisy.

I lazily got dressed, my eyes still adjusting to the sunlight coming through my window shades. Yawning, I stretched my arms and cracked my joints. The sky looked mostly clear when I peeked through the gaps in my window shades. Nice, clear, calm weather.

The stairs creaked and groaned as I darted to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. Dad wasn’t around. I thought I remembered something about the hayfield fence needing repairs.

My father and I were farmers. Instead of moving to a city like the rest of my high school classmates, I stayed with my dad instead. I think it's been around two years since graduation and regrets hardly crossed my mind. Our farm mostly harvested soybeans, although we had a couple dairy cows as well.

Stepping outside, the rising sun blinded me for a minute. The air was crisp; morning dew adorned the grass. The crops were currently being watered by the center pivot, covering the fields in a hazy mist. I could see some of our farmhands doing crop inspections way out in the distance, only hazy silhouettes.

The rumbling sound of a pickup truck came from the hayfield. It was an old red chevy, covered in dents and mud. My father sat in the driver’s seat, most likely coming back from repairing the fence.

The day was like any other. The harvest was coming in a couple weeks, so we had plenty to prepare for. It was just my father and I, along with a few farmhands. Luckily, the weather was clear and the crops seemed to be growing fine.

My father stopped the pickup outside the house, where I was standing.

“G’morning, you just roll outta bed?”, he asked, getting out of the truck and unloading some of the scrap in the back.

“mmm. Fixin' the fence?”

“Branch fell on it. Patched up for now. Have Stacey and Brenda been taken care of?”

Our dairy cows. “No,” I responded. “I was just gettin' to it.”

He nodded, his eyes drifting over the landscape. “I heard from George that there’s an event happenin' not far from 'ere. Don’t know if it’ll hit us, but it sure as hell don't sound good.”

“Did he say anythin' useful?”

“No, but he metioned something about it bein' a slasher. Keep an eye out for trouble today, that’s all.”

I nodded. He jumped back in the truck and drove off towards the soybean field.

A stream event was happening near our town? I couldn't think of much else happening that was stranger. Being farmers and the like, we lived out in the middle of nowhere with nothing more interesting than spooking cows and drinking. There weren’t any players here, so most streamers didn’t have any interest in what we were doing. I didn’t mind it, this way there’s less trouble.

However, being in such an area meant we flew under the jurisdictional radar. Not much money from the county folk made its way downriver to us. Of course most of the people in town know how to operate a hunting rifle at the very least, but that ain't cutting it against anything more serious than a couple o' cyotes.

I didn’t pay much attention to the Comsovision classifications because it didn’t really affect me, but I knew that streamers were usually categorized into genres, not unlike movies. I supposed in that case, a so-called "slasher streamer" coming to town wasn’t good news.

If you asked me, any streamer was trouble. I’ve watched a couple streams before, and the players in them looked absolutely dog tired. If the patrons don't like the content or the streamer's unsatisfied with the views, the stream usually turns ugly pretty darned fast. Drama and action streamers were the most popular from what I know, and the quickest way to get more views was to put the players in more danger.

The day continued to drag on as I took care of my duties. I milked, fed, and cleaned Stacey and Brenda and went out to the fields to help the others. Everyone was a bit on edge hearing about an event near us, but we were all capable workers who got our work done.

Hard work is medicine for the busy mind, but that didn't stop the creeping dread from sneaking up on me. Like the devil's temptations, the thoughts of the streamer's eyes and the patron's attention danced in the back of my mind.

I can't saw I wasn't expecting it, but the event notification sure did appear, 'round noon-ish, scaring the living hell outta me while I was riding the hay baler.

Event - “The Wild Hunt”

Starting in 23 minutes…

Description:

Do you have what it takes to survive the Wild Hunt? Live through the stampede and you may just find your calling--! A brand-new, traveling, one-of-a-kind experience!

Duration: 30 minutes

Rewards: 10 RP

Penalties: Death

Shit. A death penalty? What in the hell kinda stream was this? Were there actually bastards who were fuckin' mental enough to enjoy that kinda shit?

Damnit. Of course there fuckin' is.

A goddamn librarian wouldn't be able to answer all the questions popping off in my head. An event happening in our neck of the woods was strange on its own, but the lame description and the harsh penalty made it even more so.

I could already hear the farmhands’ panicked voices talking amongst themselves. I ran over to my father. His expression was settled into the slightly disappointed look he wore all his life. I could see his eyes dart back and forth as he read his notification over and over. Although I couldn’t see exactly what he was reading, I knew it must be the same as mine from the slight glimpse of fear I saw in his darkened eyes. Not much shit on this planet could give my dad that look.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at me. “Kian, grab the rifles. We’re going into town.”