When Alfred was in his last year of high school a man came and tested the students one by one.
It was called a physical, so no one thought too much of it, but as he was sitting there on the cushioned medical table in nothing but his boxers, pads attached to his temples with wires that ran down into a constantly beeping machine, he began to feel an inkling of doubt.
For ten minutes the man in the lab coat asked questions, quiet and kind, brown hair draped down to his shoulders like a curtain. And then he said, “Alfred, do you believe in mythological creatures?”
Alfred blinked, “Uh, no. Not really.”
The man leaned forward, observing him. “If you found out that they were real, would you be interested in working at a facility that strives to protect and preserve their population?”
Not the most creative of thinkers, it took Alfred a moment to conjure an image of what that could possibly mean. Then he cocked his head, “Like a zoo?”
“Yes,” the man smiled warmly, “exactly like that.”
Alfred brightened. He’d always loved zoos. “Well that’d be pretty badass, I think.”
The man beamed at him. “Wonderful.”
Little did he know that that exchange would change his life.
And that was how Alfred became a trapper.