The ground smelled of fresh earth, the scent of newly cut hay was heavy, the dew light. It was a good place. An honest place, worried of of harvest and kin, a world away from the insanity of our leaders and the other ones ready to kill us all over a matter of economics.
Too bad it was 5412-02021983-325-8889.
It would have been proper to simply have the man who let a level five hematvore escape shot. But this was odd, and too secret to bring before the usual justice system. We sent him in first instead, some up close and personal knowledge of what the creature could do. He probably did from the old training films, but Mr. Lvod would do worse with a combination of combat drugs and a twenty-centimeter trench knife.
Outside, there was little blood, at least not in a place where would see it easily. Perhaps in a row between fields, amongst the windbreaks branches, or by the duck pond - but we had built the level five infiltrators too well to expect anything blatant. Inside would be a different story. The creature would be going mad from the lack of support drugs, falling apart and unstable.
Theses simple people wouldn't be abusing the kind of drugs favored by Hollywood producers, nothing worse than vodka and kvass. Yet still, our creation would be tearing them apart to get some semblance of what it needed to prolong its existence. We could only hope this had gone on long enough that we would not have to do further clean-up.
Aside from our - volunteer - leader, it was all routine.