It took years.

Years of confusion and painful learning. Confusion followed by preparation, and then finally the follow through. The pain never leaves but I can cope. I finally cornered one of what I now know as a "Minor Manipulator". It did not fight as much as I thought it would, not belonging to one of the higher classes I've since noted. After an initial counterattack its Manipulator features began to flicker and die; slowly reverting to a Dead One. I pounded three shots into it, the first time I'd fired a gun in a long time; a .308 Ruger Scout. It handled well, though the gun initially jumped in my hands more than I'd like to admit. The last shot should have killed it, I thought at the time anyway, but instead it completely lost its extraneous features and, almost as if reborn anew, toddled out of the old house I'd cornered it in; another oblivious Dead One. I followed it for a while, in shock at the dread creature's reaction to all of this. I would learn later that Manipulators are completely unpredictable at all levels; and have adapted my tactics as much as I can to their erratic behavior.

Still, stumbling out of the house, body shaking from the adrenaline rush, I now knew I could fight them. I had a chance. There was hope in this madness that had consumed my life. I was alive and I had gained valuable knowledge on the bizarre foe that I now faced. The First Hunt had ended in a strange victory.

But there were many more hunts to embark upon.

Bone Journal Excerpt; Search Query: "Minor Manipulators"+"First Hunt"

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