In the midst of the American Civil War, a grizzled old general by the name of David C. Hunter fought valiantly for the Union. Born in the early 19th century, Hunter had seen his fair share of battles, rising through the ranks to become a colonel of the 6th U.S. Cavalry. But it wasn't until after the firing upon Fort Sumter in May 17, 1861 that Hunter's political connections to the Lincoln administration resulted in his appointment as the fourth-ranking brigadier general of volunteers, commanding a brigade in the Department of Washington. He was wounded in the neck and cheek while commanding a division under Irvin McDowell at the First Battle of Bull Run in July 1861, but his bravery earned him a promotion to major general of volunteers in August of that year.
After the war ended in the summer of 1865, Hunter retired from the military and returned to his home state of Delaware. However, tragedy struck when his parents died from Malaria and Dysentery, leaving Hunter with a heavy heart. He tried his hand at comedy, but laziness got the better of him and he soon retired from that as well.
It was in 1910 that Hunter stumbled upon an abandoned town, its buildings rusted and its air thick with smoke. As he walked, he noticed a strange figure in black ahead of him. Despite his better judgment, Hunter felt an overwhelming urge to approach the figure, who greeted him by name. Hunter was already 103 years or afe.
"Ivan Hilohiko, founder of the 909 Council," the figure introduced himself. "And I have a deal for you, General David Hunter."
Hunter, visibly shaken, asked the figure who he was and what kind of deal he had in mind.
"Who I am doesn't concern you," Ivan replied. "What matters is that I propose a deal. Join our council for 100 years, until 2012. In exchange, you'll be free from your old life."
Hunter, stunned by the proposal, hesitated for a moment before agreeing to Ivan's terms.
Jumping forward to the year 1912, Hunter, now known as 909-10 and codenamed "The Molter," was one of three recruits to the 909 Council, alongside 909-9 and 909-6. While 909-15 and 909-14 wanted him to serve as an assassin, Hunter was content to retire and rest. This didn't sit well with the other two recruits, but they ultimately decided to let it go.
Fast forward to the year 2000, and 909-6 and 909-10 were in a competition to see who was the better comedian. Despite 909-10's experience and talent, 909-6 emerged as the victor, sending 909-10 into a murderous rage.
On May 7th, 2004, at exactly 12AM, 909-10 arrived at 909-6's location. Towering over 909-10 was a tall black apartment building made from the neutralized entities of the Council. Hunter scales the building with his hand, and climbs the building until he reached the sixteenth floor. The window was open, and 909-10 snuck in. He stood over the sleeping figure of 909-6, his voice hoarse as he said, "Oh dear Tristan Fischer, I'd love to say goodbye." He then loaded a revolver with five bullets, burying all of them into 909-6's body as he stared into the darkness above.
909-15, also known as Ivan Hilohiko, or just "Ivan," had always been a loyal friend to 909-6. They had fought together in countless battles, and Ivan had even saved 909-6's life on several occasions. So when Ivan received word that 909-6 had been killed, he was devastated.
But it was not just any death. 909-6 had been killed at the hands of 909-10, one of their own. Ivan had seen the act through the All-Seeing Eye, a powerful device that allowed the 909 Consulates to see into everywhere at point in time. The image of 909-6's body, bloodied and barely recognizable, was burned into Ivan's mind.
In that moment, Ivan knew what he had to do. He immediately ordered 909-7, one of his most trusted lieutenants, to transport his army to 909-6's last known location. When they arrived, all that was left was 909-6's lifeless body, a brutal testament to the treachery of 909-10.
Ivan was furious. He contacted the SCP Foundation and told them everything. The Overseers, the highest-ranking members of the Foundation, responded by sending undercover field agents to every possible location where 909-10 might be hiding, with a particular focus on Massachusetts, where 909-6 had been killed.
Ivan continued to search for 909-10. He used every resource at his disposal, from the All-Seeing Eye to his vast network of informants, but 909-10 remained elusive. Ivan was growing increasingly frustrated, and he knew that time was running out. The longer 909-10 remained at large, the more danger he posed to the Council and to the world at large.
Finally, on May 15th, 2004, the breakthrough Ivan had been waiting for came. An SCP Foundation field agent had tracked down 909-10 to a bar in Boston, Massachusetts.
The agent sat across from 909-10, watching him closely as he took a sip of his drink. The Molter looked up, his eyes locking onto the agent's. "You're not from around here, are you?" he said, his voice cold and menacing.
The agent remained silent, his hand gripping the handle of his weapon under the table. He knew the danger he was in, but he had a job to do. "We need to talk about what happened to Tristan Fischer," he finally said, his voice steady.
The Molter's face twisted into a snarl. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled, his hand inching towards his own weapon.
The agent remained calm, but ready to act at a moment's notice. "We both know that's a lie," he said. "We have evidence that links you to his murder."
The Molter's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. "And what if I did it?" he spat. "What are you going to do about it?"
The agent leaned forward, his hand still gripping his weapon. "We're going to take you in," he said, his voice firm. "And you're going to face justice for what you've done."
The Molter laughed, a cold, bitter sound. "You think you can stop me?" he said. "I've been a part of the 909 Council for over a century. I've seen things you couldn't even imagine."
The agent remained silent, watching as The Molter stood up from his seat. "I think it's time for you to leave," he said, his voice dripping with malice.
The agent stood up as well, his weapon drawn. "I'm not leaving until you come with me," he said.
The Molter grinned, a dark, twisted expression on his face. "Then I guess we'll have to do this the hard way," he said, before lunging across the table at the agent.
The two men engaged in a brutal fight, their weapons clanging against each other as they battled for dominance. The Molter was strong, but the agent was skilled. In the end, it was the agent who emerged victorious, his weapon pressed against The Molter's temple.
"You're under arrest," he said, his voice firm.
The Molter laughed again, his eyes filled with hatred. "You think this is over?" he said. "The 909 Council will never forget what you've done here today."
The agent remained silent, his expression unreadable. He knew that he had just taken down one of the most dangerous members of the 909 Council, but he also knew that there would be consequences. He had just crossed a line that few had ever dared to cross before, and he had no idea what lay ahead.
But for now, all he could do was bring The Molter to justice, and hope that he had made the right choice.
The bar was left in shambles as the two sides clashed, and innocent bystanders fled for their lives.
The next day, 909-10 found himself in a desolate field, surrounded by a squad of heavily armed soldiers. They were led by a man with a menacing presence, whose hair curled back in an almost inhuman way. A strange symbol was bound on his left shoulder, reading "Alpha-1, Red Right Hand." His back was adorned with a deadly firearm, which he brandished with a frighteningly calm demeanor.
This was 909-7.
Despite his hands being cuffed behind his back, 909-10 stood tall, refusing to show any sign of fear to his captors. His tall red stovepipe hat perched on top of his head, he stared down the barrel of his own rifle, now held by 909-7. The older man chuckled, relishing in the power he held over the former Consulate.
"You always did have a fondness for this weapon, didn't you?" 909-7 taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement.
909-10's eyes narrowed as he gritted his teeth. "I may be going to hell, but at least I won't be going alone," he spat, defiant in the face of certain doom.
But 909-7 simply laughed in response, a sound that sent shivers down 909-10's spine. "Oh, my dear Hunter, you misunderstand. You won't be going to hell - you'll simply cease to exist. Your name will be forgotten, lost to the annals of time."
This declaration only served to fuel 909-10's anger. "What about my family? My loved ones? They'll remember me!"
909-7's shrugged nonchalantly, his indifference maddening. "We'll take care of them. The Hunter name will be erased from history, as if it never existed."
As the weight of his situation settled over him, 909-10 felt a sense of despair wash over him. He had always known that his reckoning would come, but he never imagined it would end like this - alone, forgotten, and at the hands of his former ally.
With a final smirk, 909-7 pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the field, mingling with the final breath of 909-10. And in that moment, the legacy of the Hunter family was forever erased.
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