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The Useless S-Class Hunter

We Need You

We Need You

Oct 03, 2024

We need you, Atlas.

It kept replaying in Atlas’ head, like a video skipping. 

It sounded earnest. They always did, the liars. But Atlas was no fool. Not now. Not anymore.

We need you. We need you. We need you. 

She didn’t mean it. He knew she didn’t.

The Guild President was ruthless when it came to her organization. She would say whatever she needed to say to get the job done. True or not, whatever she thought would get to the person she was speaking with was on the table. It didn’t matter if it was honest, as long as it worked. 

So Atlas had heard it all before. 

In fact, he had heard it in the same tone, from the same woman, on a day not unlike this one. Dreary and gray, with the ache in his bones that reminded him of a shared bedroom that was never warm enough, and the sound of other children as they cried.

It was the kind of thing she knew every tragic, misanthropic orphan longed to hear. It was workshopped, and scripted, and honed by a committee of Portal Group suits who knew that they could buy loyalty for just a few words if they were careful. And, oh, were they careful.

You matter, it said, in the spaces between words. You are important. You were never a nobody, you were just getting ready to be the main character. We believe in you. Why don't you let us help you prove those who doubted you wrong?

It wasn’t true. It was fabrication. It was strategy — business.

That was exactly why it shouldn’t have worked on him as well as it did. 

Why did he want to believe anyway?

Atlas sighed and dropped his head against the back of his seat.

He was outside now, slumped low and bonelessly into a metal bench, using his nail to flip through his copy of a contract the same thickness as most mass market paperbacks. His clothes were tattered and dirty enough that most people steered clear, and those who dared to come close knew they could handle themselves.

He was anonymous, as always. Worse for the wear. Not the kind of person a stand-up, everyday citizen would bother with unless they had to.

They wouldn’t care about him. Not yet. Portal Group had kept the events of the S-Grade closely guarded. It was a privilege they paid a lot of money for, to media organizations and police alike. For now, the dead members of Last Bastion were heroes, and the portal was closed because of a completed objective, not Atlas’ strange skill.

They're let that narrative lie as long as they needed to, and discard it the second it became inconvenient.

But, at least for now, the world thought they sacrificed themselves for the greater good. And some of them probably did. Lower level hunters, at least. Heron had never struck Atlas as the sacrificial sort.

But Atlas?

Atlas was a nobody. He hadn’t even been there, not officially. There hadn’t been enough time to get him on the roster. Izar had taken a risk and brought him along anyway. In hindsight, it was probably entirely against protocol.

Izar wasn’t the type to take risks. Not usually.

Zig would be proud of him. That is, if he didn’t want to wring his neck for almost getting them both killed in one fell swoop.

Atlas tucked his copy of the contract into the thick envelope and reminded himself that he’d signed it because he had to, not because he’d fallen for the same tricks again.

Surely that was it.

After all, getting his signature was a technicality. He hadn’t had much of an option but to do as he was told.

S-Classes were too dangerous not to be associated with Portal Group, and they could compel him to agree to be a part of their most elite strike team under less favorable conditions. All it took was a court order from a judiciary that was all too happy to leave hunters “to the experts.”

The higher Class your skill, the more control Portal Group had over you. It was part of why he’d had to check in with Izar so often, even when he was useless.

Now that he could close portals, and God knew what else, things weren’t exactly going to get easier.

The contract just made everyone feel better. Made the whole thing shinier. Digestible for the public and the media. It was a ticked box. A veneer of legitimacy.

He would make a point to enjoy these final moments of anonymity. Phi was asleep in his lap, weightless and purring. She’d gotten up just long enough to follow him, and not much else.

He still didn’t understand what she was, exactly. An avatar for some sort of skill. Whatever Game Master had possessed, it seemed. Other than that, this entire thing was too much of a mystery for him to solve, and he wasn’t eager to disturb her when she was so obviously drained.

He could wait. After all, he had spent his whole life waiting.

It wasn’t a bad day for it. The world was quieter than the portal had been. The boxes and text were reserved for other hunters, now. The to and fro of the regular crowds was much less busy, and the pressure in his head had gone down dramatically. 

He watched a handful of lower level hunters across the street as they window-shopped at a boutique.

Close information panels, he thought experimentally. 

In an instant the text folded away, the boxes dissolving one pixel at a time into nothing. [YOU MAY RESUME SEEING INFORMATION AT ANY TIME.]

He brought up his Skill window. More out of habit than anything else.

ATLAS CANE
[S-Class]
Special Skill: Phoenix (S), Rapid Heal (D)

HP: 3,500/3,500
MP: 1,000/1,000
EXP: 820/1,000

So he’d gained experience in the portal, then. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see a single level.

He closed his window and kept watched the clouds drift overhead.

Maybe he’d stay here for a few hours.

At least until the rain.

___

The first thing Atlas thought, as he brushed through the door of his shitty, one room apartment, was that he he should probably actually get a phone that wasn’t in a river.

The second was that he’d need to move.

Hunters were a big deal. A very, very big deal. Especially S-Classes, and especially members of Last Bastion. 

And though he’d been lucky to fall off the radar, thanks to his utter uselessness, that wasn’t going to stay the case for long. The contract had made that abundantly clear.

There would be public appearances. Interviews. Training, and team integration, and guild meetings.

He’d need somewhere with security. Somewhere with a door that wasn’t a quarter inch thick and shuddered with anything more than a gentle breeze. He’d need to quit his jobs, and cancel his internet, and probably stop recklessly chainsmoking in the rain if he didn’t want there to be photos of it.

Atlas never thought he would be important enough for any of that to matter.

He should have been ecstatic. What did any of those things matter? That hadn’t really, not before today. And besides, this was what he had wanted, once upon a time. A chance to be a somebody.

He dumped his contract on his tiny dining room table, collapsed into his awful, lumpy bed, and threw his arm over his eyes.

He was probably getting dirt in his sheets. Dirt, and flaked blood, and soot.

Whatever.

Phi followed along after him, padding in a short little circle before she settled.

Please rest, she said, before pushing her ears back and falling asleep buried in one of his afghans.

But it felt wrong to rest.

He didn’t know why. He wasn’t sad, exactly. 

And maybe that was the problem. He should have been sad. He had seen people die. People he knew, whether he liked them or not. The burnt outlines of their corpses falling endlessly into a chasm where something unknown and terrible lurked.

That should have moved him to tears. Made him feel something, at least.

But it didn’t. He felt…nothing. No sadness, or grief, or remorse. 

He thought, maybe, it was too much to set in all at once. That would be normal, right? Or maybe it was too many years of not caring, or being cared for.

It didn’t bode well for his immortal soul if it was the latter.

He wanted a cigarette. He wanted four. 

Atlas closed his eyes and willed himself to wait until tomorrow. 

___

They were whispering.

So many, all at once. He couldn’t make out any voice above the others, but that didn’t matter, because he knew what they were asking of him anyway.

You need to stop them.

Atlas wanted to ask who, and why, but he couldn’t speak. When he tried, he was only murmuring in unison with the others, saying the same message, over and over, desperate and begging.

They cannot be allowed to win. They musn’t be allowed to win.

He felt like nothing and everything all at once. Formless, but permanent. Everlasting. Part of something greater.

And maybe it was terrifying, or maybe it was right, but he was losing himself a moment at a time, and if the message didn’t appear right then, he thought perhaps he would have let himself be consumed by it.

[PHOENIX, IT IS TIME TO WAKE UP.]
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The Useless S-Class Hunter
The Useless S-Class Hunter

24k views508 subscribers

Atlas Cane is useless. He's famous for it, actually.

Or he was, until the new portals killed half of world-famous team Last Bastion, and Atlas' true skill awakened in the aftermath.

Atlas Cane was supposed to be useless.

He's not. Not anymore.

Banner/Cover/Thumbnail Art: NOREI Read more
Subscribe

24 episodes

  • Useless
    Episode 1 Useless
  • Portal Group
    Episode 2 Portal Group
  • Rematch
    Episode 3 Rematch
  • Ash
    Episode 4 Ash
  • Replay
    Episode 5 Replay
  • Game Master
    Episode 6 Game Master
  • Awaken
    Episode 7 Awaken
  • Fissure
    Episode 8 Fissure
  • Exit
    Episode 9 Exit
  • We Need You
    Episode 10 We Need You
  • For Real
    Episode 11 For Real
  • Small
    Episode 12 Small
  • Zig
    Episode 13 Zig
  • Big News
    Episode 14 Big News
  • Your Team
    Episode 15 Your Team
  • The Contenders
    Episode 16 The Contenders
  • The Trials
    Episode 17 The Trials
  • Sing
    Episode 18 Sing
  • An Introduction
    Episode 19 An Introduction
  • Are You Ready to Begin?
    Episode 20 Are You Ready to Begin?
Ep. 10 We Need You

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We Need You

We Need You

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