January 31, 2020

The Confessions of Sheriff Hardin, pt 2

You can play Hunt as Sheriff Hardin right now, by grabbing Legendary Hunter “Sheriff Hardin" in-game. Those Hunt players who have already delved into the texts in the Book of Weapons will have heard the name Hardin before, in the letters sent by Snakeskin to his father. To celebrate his addition as a Legendary Hunter, we're publishing an interview with him we found in the archive. Read the first part here.

Interview transcript, 2/2

Interviewer: Unknown

Interviewee: W. Hardin


The first group out was attacked by a pack of the dogs. Was proud to see them take down three of them, but not without a few causalities. I couldn't look away; their flesh tore so easily... But it gave some of the others the chance to slip away.

I told them, use the knives to get the right hands and bring them back as a trophy - if the thing has hands – paws in this case - prove to me you killed at least three, and we'll see. Didn't want none of them just hiding out there and coming back telling stories. Always need proof. Can't build a case with no proof.

I sat on the roof to wait. Had a fair view from there, though the trees blocked a lot. I had saved a a Marksman for myself, and I had a lot to think about. With the jails cleared out, I could feed five or six through winter. What I'd done had crossed a line in the law I had vowed to uphold, but what good was the law when the world changes like this? One of the loyal ones, Russel, would take the hit if it came.

About then I started to hear gunshots in the distance, screams, but mostly it was quiet. Even the bugs gone silent. Took about an hour before they started coming back. Which means about an hour until they started to run out of ammunition. Five of them. Five out of almost 200. Worse odds than I expected, but what did they have to live for anyway? Nothing. No country. No law. Nothing, no more. Same as me. You got to fight hard to even scrape by, and even then you wake up wondering what the point is. Everything looks like a prison these days.

Predator, prey, the world has its way, and I have nothing but time. I remember I was humming that to myself. It's one of my favorites. Felt pretty fitting, though I was angling for a fistful of dollars from Huff for this. I watched the survivors, keeping low, thinking. They'd collected a hell of a lot of trophies, the littlest one wearing them around his neck. Then I had to consider. Is the most dangerous one going to be the most help? Or the biggest danger to me? I've always been a good shot. It didn't take me long to decide what to do. Didn't need an extra mouth to feed if it might be trouble later, nope.

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