Since the dawn of mankind, there have been those who hunt and those who herd. Two methods that brought the homo sapiens domination over the animal kingdom.

Many would point at the hunters as being the cruelest in this regard, but all a hunter does is follow the instinct inside any other carnivore in the natural world. Not just the natural urge to find sustenance, but to prove their abilities in a contest of life or death against both prey and predator.

I believe the herders, the ones who used domestication, were the true monsters. Quieter about their methods.

They didn’t follow the natural rule of survival of the fittest; they changed the system. Years and years of interference to turn pack animals docile and make even the wolf into a mere companion. 

Hunters were once the ones called upon to provide food for their tribe, but suddenly, one with a herd of cattle with generations of subservience bred into its DNA could slaughter in mass without the question of replenishment. And somehow, this was seen as humane.

These herders became industrialists, showmen, doctors.

Nature no longer was something to be revered, but studied and then exploited. The focus shifted from using an animal’s body for food, clothing, and shelter to seeing them as pets, farm stock, or even exotic beasts to be displayed at zoos, gawked at by the masses.

Those who were found young might have a longer life, but those who are truly wild can’t simply let their instincts fade. As they pace the plastic facade of their habitats, their very being yearns for freedom.

And whoever gets too confident that the same rules of nature no longer apply, learn what savagery can do to those who think themselves above.

Eric, if you had simply gone in to finish me, I could have accepted that perhaps I had finally met a deserved fate. I was distracted, my senses dulled, a punishment that in the jungle is a death sentence. 

But that’s not your operation. I’m not an opponent to you; you see me as a specimen. You don’t dare to even dirty your hands in a fair fight against me; you always have that needle, or your orderlies. 

You brought me into your world, a laboratory of cold, surgical precision. Grey walls, fluorescent walls, tools of observation, and your sick idea of “research”.

All in the name of progress, or as I see it, further twisting this world into a cruel joke of the natural plan.

Your study ends at Turbo Violence.

You will be forced to step into the place that has become my hunting ground, The Temple. I’m sure you have a strategy, drawn up point by point with formulas and calculations… but you’ll find even the best laid plans can fail when nature asserts itself, dragging you away from the manmade structure that gave your artificial superiority.

This hunt isn’t one I’m on for sport, or even survival.

This kill is made for vengeance.