Friday, 14 December 2018 09:43

Congo Concurafane

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Congo Concurafane


Congo Concurafane

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Congo Concurafane

“Congo... Congo, you are my favorite hunter, don’t get me wrong, Ziare is just as skilled as you are, maybe even more so. But you have the natural zeal that is necessary to perform this job, with all its cruel functions as nature intended. You are one bad motherfucker. You were born to search, to find, to torment, and to capture prey.” The well dressed sturdy black man spoke with pride, as he handed Congo the latest in hunting gear, known as the Mental Tracker or MT.

The MT gives the hunter a mental schematic of their prey. It quickly maps a chosen prey’s likes, dislikes, comforts, and fears; it then allows the predator to take advantage of that knowledge. The MT resembles a finely made 1960’s hippy skullcap constructed with colorful yarn; and like those ancient yarn caps, it had large openings throughout its entire hemisphere. Except, the material that this cap was made of was from a fish line like silver alien substance that changed colors to match the feelings of the hunter and the prey. Congo gently held the MT high in the air with a gloved hand admiring its fragile beauty.

Congo clumsily placed the thin stringy MT on his baldhead, as Bossman left the room in a rush, apparently he had things to do.

When the MT made contact with Congo’s bald scalp it immediately clamped down. Congo screamed in agony, as the MT grew more taut with each second. Blood began to stream down Congo’s face. In a panic, he began ripping at the MT with his gloved hands. Congo always wore leather gloves, all good hunters do.

“Bloody gloves!!!” Congo screamed as the MT continued to tighten, burying itself into his scalp.

“Bloody glooooves!!!” Congo howled as he stripped off the gloves, his head completely red with fresh crimson blood. He began to frantically try to dig beneath the cable skullcap with his fingers and he was successful in getting his left index finger under one of the thin strands of the MT. Suddenly the whole cap shuddered as if angered, and the freshly serrated tip of his left index finger bounced off his nose and dropped to the floor with a pronounced thud.

“Agh!!! Aghhh!!!” Congo screamed a gurgled shriek as his own blood entered his mouth and began to choke him.

Congo lurched forward in order to gain his breath as blood flowed out of his mouth and from the tip of his nose. So violently had Congo leaned forward that he lost his balance and went headlong onto the coffee table, the blackness of unconsciousness instantly swallowed him. In that blackness, Congo could still feel the tightness of the MT, and the wetness of his blood, snot, and saliva on the left side of his face. His unconsciousness took him deeper, and he remembered back to when his hunting life first began.

Strange, Congo thought, his mind stopped at his first hunt, and did not seek to find reminiscence before that time, in more peaceful epochs.


There he was with Bossman and other folks of power; they all were dressed in traditional Egyptian clothing. Bossman gave the command for the hunt and Congo and other hunters took off like a shot after their prey. Congo could feel his heart beating slightly more rapidly than his resting heartbeat as he closed in on the two men, their prey, in front of him, the closest man a Hebrew and the other one slightly ahead, a dark-skinned man from some southern region of the continent.

Behind him, Congo who was called Inox, could hear the shouts of the other hunters. And even farther back, he heard the barely audible gleeful shouts of the Pharaoh, other Egyptian royalty, Bossman, and the accompanying Egyptian high priests. With the sun hot on his face, he slammed into the Hebrew, snapping the Hebrew’s body like a twig. The other trailing hunters cursed as the Hebrew slid from Inox’s shoulder and crumpled to the ground dead.

“Catch them Inox, catch them. Don’t kill them,” the Pharaoh yelled, as Bossman and the others laughed.

With the blood of the Hebrew hot on his face, Inox looked down at the weak human, now he knew what the other Immortals meant when they said the humans were puny. Why or how could anyone mate with such weak beings? Inox thought. The other hunters flashed past him as he stared at his limp prey.

“Go Inox, go!” the Pharaoh yelled, and Inox was off with blinding speed.

The other hunters were closing on the dark-skinned man, who ran with better agility than the dead Hebrew. Three hunters converged on the African at the same time, and the poor man was torn apart as each hunter held on to their piece of the man. Blood and accompanying laughter splattered everywhere.

“Come back now,” Bossman’s yelled with a booming baritone voice as he waived everyone back.

Inox liked the man’s face with the booming voice, as it was the cruelest face he had ever seen. The being’s long red hair glistened in the sun as he smoothly turned and started back to the royal company, with a smooth and powerful jog. By the time Inox and the other hunters caught up to this man, the ginger haired man had made it back to the royal group.

Bossman smiled at Inox, “I think I’ll call you Congo,” he said as he rubbed Inox’s raven colored hair.


Congo woke with a start, he hadn’t felt such cold in a long time, the cold felt like the edge of the universe, and he knew a little about that, or at least he had heard stories.

“He is okay,” Construct said, as its sparkling deep-set eyes focused steadily beneath an ever-changing face, liquid with emotions. Congo jumped as he gained full consciousness only to be slammed hard against the table by itConstruct's touch sent Congo into an uncontrollable shiver.

“Are you sure he is an Immortal?” It asked, as it looked at Bossman.

“He is Immortal, Construct, he would not survive your touch if he wasn’t,” Bossman said, as he causally sipped his Scotch.

“I am done here.” Construct hissed as it moved to a wall and then through it as if a spirit.

The room struggled to warm itself, the sound of the furnace in the basement straining as it worked to overcome the bitter cold.

“Rest, Congo. It will be sometime before you are up again, I must warn you though, your appearance is somewhat changed.” Bossman said as he looked down at Congo.

Footnote from the author.

Image description of Congo- One of the Huntsmen:

Congo, a Young Immortal (YI), is  one of Bossman's greatest tools of acquisition of humans.  The world has long since progressed past the feeble nature of hunting animals.  Generally, mankind now focuses exclusively on itself, whether for benefit or destruction.  This tale of Congo gives you the first look at the cruel nature of the Huntsmen; as well as the one who they all answer to, the consummate purveyor of flesh, Bossman.  You also get a glimpse of the diabolical yet benevolent androgynous thing called Construct. 

Visit and rate on the rest of the nine other characters.

Visit Congo in my novel, Origins - Testament of the One.

Read 2205 times Last modified on Sunday, 16 May 2021 09:32
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