Cecily's blade swung, hitting its mark as always.

The man's arm fell to the cold grass of the prison with a familiar thud. He let out a blood curdling scream. A warning to the rest. Stay away, the Hunter is here.

That's the name they'd given her, the Hunter. After she cut off the man who tried to rape hers dick with no remorse, they stayed away. She'd made it clear anyone who tried to touch her would be hunted and slaughtered.

Cecily kneeled down, pushing the man's face into the dirt so she could use his back as a seat while she trifled through his belongings.

"You're hurting my ears," she told him, no remorse in her voice. "Quiet down before I really do kill you."

The man bit his lip, well aware that she wasn't lying. Sobs shook him, making for an uncomfortable seat. She, however, didn't particularly feel the need to kill him. It happened, not often, but it did.

"Oh, hush up," she hissed, taking out a bag of rations with her metal hand, "it doesn't hurt that bad."

With her good, human hand, she dropped the plastic bag of food into her own satchel. She pushed up, off the man back.

As the lithe huntress was about to walk away, bag slung over her shoulder, brushing against her autumn colored braid, she turned back to him.

"Consider yourself lucky," she said, no hatred in her voice, there never was. "Consider yourself lucky that you didn't do anything stupid. And even luckier if one of the scum bagged criminals in here feel a little light in their hearts and help you. Consider yourself luckier if you die there."

With that, her old black and white Nike sneakers carried her off into the brush of the huge prison.

When she was far enough from the man who was probably being robbed or beaten, maybe even eaten, by the scavengers, she slowed. Taking in a breath, she found herself in the forest like prison. For the last four years, she'd made it her home.

A loud buzzing drew her from her calm. She always hated that sound. It was too unnatural for her. Ironic, she though, flexing her robotic hand, and hypocritical.

But the sound meant fresh meat. Fresh meat meant trackers. She found that, instead of hunting the fresh meat and supplies, it was easier to hunt the vultures that followed. There were plenty of hungry prisoners who'd go after the fresh mouse they let in. But there was only one mouse to lure them.

Cecily liked her catagories for the prisoners. They kept her calm and let her plan. Of course, being a hunter, it was entirely based off a food chain.

At the bottom, the mice and the scavengers. Of course, she saw the mice a little higher up. A mouse could rise. A scavenger was a lifestyle. After that, you had the birds, mostly she called them hawks. They kept to the trees and hunted with bows and arrows, swooping in after their prey was was disabled. Then the wolves, who hunted down prey in packs and clans. Then, the vultures, who preyed on the weak.

No, that order was wrong. She thought more highly of the wolves than the vultures.

She cursed herself for her inappropriate ordering as she hopped over a root.

After the wolves, there were the foxes. The animal may have been looked down upon by many in real life, but she always loved their wits. They were the thinkers. The ones who could set traps. Sometimes though, they became wolves for a target. Then, at the top of the god damned prisons food chain was her, the hunter.

Of course, normal women were in a class of their own. Yes, it was called the whore class. Women had no rights here, no power. Some though, were the strongest foxes. She was careful not to hunt them. Every once and a while, she even conversed with a friendly vulpine. Sometimes they traded. Other than that, women were raped daily.

Her mind flashed back to when she'd first came to the prison four years ago and they thought they could do that to her. The man bled out, to her joy.

Back to topic, there were people outside too, who she'd had time to think up titles for. But most importantly, there were the royals. Members of the royal family who threw her in here. They were lions.

Of course, as a hunter, she was excited for the day she'd get to bring home her biggest prize. The head of the King of the pride. The king himself.

She skidded to a stop, her thoughts coming back to her when she spotted a man with decently long red hair pulled into a side braid whistling an old tune while he examined the forest. Her nostrils flared, her senses screaming mouse.

She watched from the sidelines, matching his slow footsteps so he couldn't hear her.

She examined him down to the bare skin, imagining where he possibly could've hidden weapons. Her keen eyes spotted a single dagger strapped to his waist. The hyenas, the cackling prison guards, always have the mice small daggers.

A rustle of leaves above her caught her attention. She perked up, black eyes catching on the blond haired figure peering at the mouse.

Hawk, she thought.

Her metal band went to her belt where she took hold of a single dagger, the same one she'd received when she entered. The metal gave a soft clang against the titanium of her hand that only a true animal like herself could detect. Then she let go of it, remembering that it was best to keep it quiet. Mice liked to run.

So, she grabbed onto the tree and began to climb as smoothly as her thin body would allow her. Every step she took on a branch was careful, planned, and calculated.

When she could reach both of her arms to the hawk man's neck, she grabbed hold of him, dropping them both to the ground while one hand covered her victims mouth.

With a feline like action, she twisted them both in a matter of seconds so that he was under her. They landed with a thud, her knees on either side of the man. One hand covered his mouth while the metal one took hold of his right wrist.

Her trained ears heard the crack of his ribs as they landed.

She leaned forward, whispering besides his ear, "You keep quiet it I'll slit your throat and take your goods."

If he hadn't caught a glimpse of her during the fall, he knew now.

The hunter, the hunter, the hunter, the hunter. The thought raced through his mind like a chant, or even a prayer.

He nodded his head a few times.

He was scared when her grip didn't loosen over his mouth, but let out a sigh of relief when she let go.

She carefully watched him lay his golden hair on the ground.

"You're good at what yo-" Her grip tightened on his wrist, pulling his arm a little higher. "I'm sorry. Sorry."

She gave his arm another sharp pull, earning a pained gasp, before relaxing the arm.

Using her metallic right hand, she grabbed hold of his bag, opened it, and dug through it. A dagger, which she didn't need. A ration of food, which she took.

"I was stupid," the bird of prey said, pausing to wait for her grip to tighten. When it didn't, he continued. "I was stupid for hunting the fresh meat. Everyone knows you keep your eye on those. But food is scarce. There isn't much left. They say the guards are giving less and less to kill off some of the numbers."

Her hands didn't stop as she skimmed over another ration in his bag.

When she was convinced that she'd make it for a while, she stood up, kicking his bow and arrows away before letting go of his body.

"My ribs broke," he said, his voice hoarse. "I heard it."

She started to walk away when he called back for her. "You left some food?"

She glanced back at him, giving him no real facial expression to read. "Never hunt more than you need. It's a life lesson. Also, you can take the mouse now. I don't need more food."

He watched her stalk away with wide eyes.

Cecily decided to head home, or the hovel that she called home.

In the distance, she heard a low yell, but those had become nothing but background noise to her. The shouts of pain and death. Nothing.

She approached the cavern in the ground that was her home.

Just a panel to the rest of the prison. It's probably shock them if they touched it, they thought. But Cecily's metal hand found the small dent in the side that allowed her to pull it open.

She carefully closed the hatch, so quietly so that the animals outside couldn't hear.

When she was consumed by the darkness of the unlit room, she felt around with her good, fleshy hand, finding the string in a matter of seconds.

The room, now illuminated, was decently simple and plain, yet dangerously terrifying.

The walls were lined with hordes of weapons. Cecily's saw her weapons as something of a collection. A vast collection where no weapon was the same as another. Even if there were fifty-three in total, she could recite them all by heart. This was her secret life below the prison.

She set her bag down, leaving it on the table at the far end of the room, right besides her bed.

Pacing by the shelves of weapons, something caught her eye. She turned, examining the empty space that used to contain a medium sized axe that she'd taken from a supply drop.

Someone had been in her room.

The hunt began.

Her nostrils flared, searching for any peculiar scent while she bent down and searched the floor for tracks. A hair, a hair and a new scent were all she had.

Her mind raced, crossing ten prisoners a second off the list. It took her over a little over a hundred seconds before she had her match.

A brown haired wolf who lived by the far south wall.

Cecily's grabbed her long sword and sheathed it to her back.

She'd found her prey.