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This small biography was found in an abandoned hut near the edge of a forest in South Carolina, it is unclear who lived there, but a rifle identified as a Cheytac .408 was also found inside along with a tattered picture of a young man with an X across it, written with what seems to be blood.
I provided ground-based overwatch in the United States Air Force, I had been in the service for almost three years now. I'm not sure what first motivated me to join, but I was always a crack shot with a rifle. I was always hunting with my dad in my younger years, back then it didn't matter that I was killing. They were just animals.
I ended up shooting my dad on one of those hunting trips, it was an accident. But the courts didn't see it that way. I had shot my dad in the head at range. He died instantly. I went to prison until I turned 21, at which point I was released and immediately went to my nearest recruiter.
I was rejected from the Army, the Navy and the Marines, but the Air Force recruiter was a family friend who knew the circumstances, as he had been on the trip with us. He himself had thought my dad had been an elk.
During Basic, I was the last one to 'break' they said, I guess I was already hard. My skill with a gun did not go unnoticed and I was immediately given my E-2 rank. I was one of the first deployed into Afghanistan following the 9/11 attacks. As overwatch, I protect a group of soldiers until their objective is completed. I have never once lost a soldier under my scope, and I don't plan to.
I served in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, even some parts of Syria. It was on one of these missions in Syria when I was captured. I was tortured and starved for months, they forced me to ration out portions of my spotter to survive, I was never given enough water, so I drank my spotter's blood. The Syrians watched me and laughed at my pathetic state. Almost a month passed before I was found and freed. I spent almost triple that in therapy, but they let me serve again. My last mission was in Syria as well, it started slow, I had my soldiers in the scope and my spotter was rustling around behind me.
As I watched the group of soldiers go door to door, my stomach started to rumble and I looked away and at my spotter.
"Hey, hand me a ration real quick." I speak softly, so as not to be overheard.
"You got it, boss." My spotter is a young guy, barely old enough to serve, like my last one.
He catches me staring at him.
"W-what's wrong, boss.?" He stutters nervously. "I-I-I mean, sir."
I start to rip into the ration, but I get a call over my headset.
"Groundhog, this is Wolf 2-1. Can I get a confirmation of visual on target, over?"
"Yes, sir. Things are normal, whatchu spot, over?"
"Are you sure? This guy looks like Pfc. Davids, over."
I freeze. Davids was my old spotter, poor kid. I settle back down and look through the scope, tracking their movement. I increase the zoom and put my 'hairs over the look-alike, his head is hooded and he looks pale, especially for this area. His head slowly tilts back and turns in my direction, the hood falls back to reveal Davids' half-eaten face smiling grimly. I'm unable to control myself and I pull the trigger until I come to my senses to the sound of Wolf 2-1 screaming at me over the headset and the clicking sound of my pulling on the trigger of an empty rifle. I look through the scope to see all the men in the squad lying in their own blood and Wolf 2-1 slowly bleeding out through a hole in his chest.
Pfc. Davids is nowhere to be seen.
I turn to my spotter to see him staring wide-eyed up into the grinning half-face of Davids. Poor kid never even moved as Davids casually ripped out his heart through his chest. I find myself licking my lips at the sight, and I glance back up to see Davids' grin centered directly on me. I waste no time, I'm pretty sure I broke an arm jumping out of there with my rifle, I fell three adrenaline-ridden stories. But Davids was there already, his grin wide and his sunken eye-lids closed.
I ran. I ran, and I ran, and I ran. It wasn't until i realized soldiers were restraining me did I realize I had ran 20 miles back to base. I'm told I was screaming. "He's alive! He's coming to get me! I shouldn't have eaten him!" My arm is treated and I'm sent back Stateside to recieve more therapy. I'm released from active duty after being deemed unfit for military service. I don't see Davids again. I married and divorced, got a job, lost it too. Eventually, I decided to move out here. Maybe the peace and quiet will help.
Davids shows up again not two days after I move. It's been ten years since I last saw him. I see him wherever I look, I feel him watching me. I start hearing him whispering to me. Telling me to kill again. Telling me to eat and he'll go away. I try to ignore him and it works for a while, I cave when I wake up to feel his hands pressing on my chest and that ever-present grin staring down at me. I plan, contact an old buddy of mine, tell him I need my old rifle, the one that I got captured with.
"Yeah, no prob. Damn thing's cursed I tell ya!" I swear Davids' grin gets wider. "Anybody that's ever used the damn thing since you's been KIA."
I go to town under the pretense of buying supplies and the need to interact. That's when I meet my target. Her name is Helen, she works at the diner where I used to eat at as a kid. We get talking and I tell her about serving in the military, leaving out the nasty parts and embellishing the good. I come back to town, Davids staying out of sight, but always watching. I slowly work myself into good terms with her and invite her out to dinner. I recieve my rifle in pieces in the P.O box in town, I take the rifle home and reassemble it, I notice that my buddy put a notice slip inside one of the packages saying the rifle is being destroyed. I smile at this, knowing the inside joke. Any rifle deemed unfit for service is usually thrown away instead of fixed.
Helen comes to dinner and I prepare some deer hamburger, fresh this morning. I can feel rather than see Davids outside, watching. Helen and I talk some and I slowly maneuver over to were I hid the rifle. I ask Helen to look out the window. Davids walks in, grinning, as she does so. I pull the rifle and shoot Davids in the neck, severing his spinal column and he drops to the floor. Helen screams and turns around, seeing Davids' body on the ground. She screams again and runs over to me and my aimed rifle, getting behind me and shaking.
I lead her home and come back to the house. Davids is still laying there, grin smeared into a grimace of pain, eyes darting around wildly.
"You wanted me to kill again, to eat again. Well, I will. Of course, not with just any meat. Yours, you unholy son of a bitch." I reach over, grab, and raise the rifle aimed at his head. "You were delicious."
After further investigation, we found a skeleton, picked-clean behind the hut, cleverly hidden by brush and weeds. We also found the culprit, he is currently married to Helen DeGrazi and has a deep-seated hatred for Syrians. He declined to comment on our find, but states only that, "I could have made it last longer."