Hello, i am a Hunter, and if anyone is reading this, I'm already dead. I'm corpsified. Six feet under. You get the idea. Technically, I'll be laying in the bed I plan to be in when I swallow a few year's worth of pain pills, but it all amounts to the same thing. I know this may seem strange in such a time of renewed hope and opportunity as we now live in, but you see, that's kind of the problem. I guess I'm not making a whole lot of sense. That's probably because I started at the end of my story. So let me try this again from the beginning. I am a Hunter, and when the Thralls apocalypse struck, I was ready. Don't for a second think I was some kind of badass or anything like that, at least not yet. No, I was just a noob wasting his time in the tower doing nothing but watching others, but I had seen every thrall movie ever made. I'd seen every TV show, played every video game and read every book or comic ever created on the subject. So when I was ordering a hot dog outside the stadium at crucible, and a warlock came shuffling up with ripped clothes and grunting and started biting people, I was the only one that didn't panic. It was something I had always known was going to happen eventually. I ran away while everyone else moved in to help. As I pulled out of the parking lot in my sparrow, I saw the travelers that had been bitten turn on the ones that came to help them. It was a bloodbath. Didn't these idiots know how this sort of thing worked? I was doing patrol on earth. Guardians screamed in the distance when I was throwing the materials into my vehicle. I hurried home and locked all the doors and windows. My friends is a Titan and my other friend is a Warlock, so I grabbed all my weapons I could find from the vault and loaded any that weren't already I was rather proud of myself. I already had a safe place to hide while everyone else was just starting to realize what was going on. When I had done all of this, I realized it was a couple of hours past the time my friends normally got home. I felt sick. No, it was worse than that. Somehow I knew the thralls had got to them. It was devastating. I just sat in the living room and waited for hours. It got dark outside, and I heard travelers screaming nearby. Traveler Lulu: "HELP, HELP ME !!" Traveler Bimbo: "I am under attack ! Please, someone.. HELP ME!" Traveler: Kush: "Omg, what is going on. I don't wanna die like this" I peeked out a crack in one of the boarded windows and saw dozens of thralls shuffling down my street. The way they moved and their moaning and grunting was exactly what I'd always expected, but it scared the crap out of me anyway. Right at that moment, something thumped against the front door to my house. The doorknob rattled, and then I heard a soft scratching sound. I crept slowly up to the door and peeked out the peephole. My friend titan and warlock had finally come home. But both of them were thralls. I couldn't stand the thought of either of them leading lives as mindless undead, so I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed my found verdict shotgun, threw the door open, and blew both their heads off. Then I closed the door and hid in the dark as other thrall tried to get inside, drawn by the sound of the shotgun blast. They broke the glass out of the windows and pried at the boards, and I'm pretty sure I pissed myself, but eventually they gave up and shuffled away. The next day I made a run to the local hardware store for some supplies to better fortify my house. As I'd always suspected, the thralls were less active during the day. I still had to put a few down, but it was easier in the light of day. The thralls were very smart, and they were so freaking fast. I think that was when I started to enjoy killing them. Yes, this is my destiny. I knew I should be upset about my friends, and I was, but it had already started to fade. There just wasn't time to mourn loss in a thrall apocalypse. It sort of just came with the territory. I grabbed the supplies and turned my house into an impenetrable fortress. I even built a little stand on the roof where I could snipe wandering thralls if I was in a sporting mood. Things continued this way for weeks. I added to my house's defenses, looted guns and ammo, stocked up an insane amount of food and killed a whole lot of thralls. It was great. I was the happiest I'd ever been. I know what you're thinking. What kind of sick freak would be happy after so many people died? After our whole world ended? Well, the truth is I didn't think about it much. You see, I never had a place in the old world. I was an lazy, slightly overweight hunter with no humor. Even my friends thought I was a disappointment. Hardly a day went by that one of them didn't make a comment about me doing vault of glass or crota's end raid. And the random guardians was even worse. None of them realized constantly putting me down ensured I never had the self confidence to make something of myself. Then the thralls came, and nobody was there anymore but me and them, and I finally discovered what I was good at: killing the shuffling freaks. I soon began to think of myself as the world's greatest thrall slayer. Nobody could dispute it, so why not? I killed hundreds just from my rooftop perch, but soon that wasn't enough. I had to find more creative ways to take them out. I once found a dump truck with plenty of gas in the tank and the keys still inside. I went on a little highway rampage, mowing the bastards down like weeds, and by my count, at one point I killed thirty thralls in about seventeen seconds. That has to be some sort of record. My best thrall kill ever was the old warehouse in skywatch, however. I doused an abandoned warehouse with lighter fluid and gasoline, then ran around with an air horn attracting the attention of as many thralls as possible. I led hundreds of them into the warehouse, hid in a cubby by the door, and when an opportunity presented itself, I ran back outside and locked them in. It was then a simple matter to set the whole building ablaze and watch it burn down around them. Classic. I was in heaven. So how did I get from that point to where I am now, about to kill myself? I suppose anyone reading this knows the truth of the thrall apocalypse, so I guess the answer is fairly obvious. It all went to hell when I was making a run to loot a downtown gun store. The path was more congested than I would have liked, so I crept across as silently as possible, taking a few of them out with my knife to the brain to avoid drawing undo attention. I found all kinds of good stuff on the ground, including a few heavy ammo packs i couldn't wait to try out, so I filled my duffle bag quickly. When I went back outside, a few dozen thralls had surrounded the entrance to the store. It seemed like a great time to use my rocket launcher,. At that moment, I heard a soft buzz in the distance. The thralls must have heard it too because they all turned toward it. The sound grew louder until I finally spotted the source: a small guardian's ships headed straight for us. It was so surprising, I could only watch them come motionlessly. I had been so sure everyone was dead. By the time I'd gotten around to checking the TV and the radio after the thralls came, all the stations were dead. It had seemed a safe assumption that everywhere else was affected too. The ships flew overhead. Small hatches dropped open in their bottoms and an orange gas poured out, raining down on us, on me. I tried to hold my breath, but when I finally gave in and inhaled the gas, it had no negative effect on me whatsoever. I quickly turned my attention to the thralls, expecting to see them dying gruesome deaths. Surely the other guardians had developed some kind of ultimate thrall-killing weapon . . . but no. No such luck. To my utter shock, the thralls started to get better when the gas flowed over them. The moaning stopped. They stood straighter. Intelligence slowly returned to their vacant eyes. They became human again. The gas was no weapon; it was a cure. I fell to my knees in the street, my weapons forgotten. A sense of the most complete helplessness washed over me. I watched a couple of people that apparently knew each other embrace, crying into one another's shoulder. I realized they had never been thralls at all. Not really. Just sick people. It was that moment when the guilt hit me. I thought of shooting the thralls from my rooftop. I thought of the dump truck rampage; thirty thralls in seventeen seconds? Dear God, what had I done? I thought of the warehouse in skywatch burning with hundreds inside. I thought of my friend warlock and titan. Tears poured from my burning eyes. My world was shattered as everyone around me rediscovered theirs. The world had changed again, just like that, and once again I didn't belong. So that's my story, and why I felt compelled to end it. I hope you don't think too little of me. I didn't know what I was doing, though even as I write the words, I know it's a poor excuse. So here's one last kill for the world's greatest thrall slayer. I'm not a thrall, of course. But none of the others were either. The End.