Rumors.
That's all that there was to surround them. Like a thick fog, swirling and concealing, not letting anybody in, and sure as hell not letting anybody out. Rumors created gods amongst men, built towers that were so impossibly high, that there was no way that they could be real, right?
Right?
That's what they believed when they heard about the Saviors, when they heard about him. Ruthless, intelligent, sadistic, evil, wielding with an iron fist. No room for mistakes, no room for treason. A simple mistake led to death, squeaky wheels eradicated and exterminated. But, they had dealt with worse, they had seen worse. This was all hearsay, words thrown in hushed whispers by people who didn't know what true ugliness looked like.
So, they thought nothing of it when they went in the dead of night, snuffing out the lights of an outpost. It was easy, no fight, a simple in, get in done, and get out. Even with a bump in the road towards the end, they had still managed to pull their group together, all still intact, while the enemies lied scattered amongst the floor.
That was the start of the end.
Little by little, the rumors began to make sense. Organized attacks, captured allies, dead friends, it all came tumbling down so fast. The fog began to clear, and outlines could be made of the monsters that hid behind them. But, it's not the rumors about him, that scared them the most.
It was about her.
'If her gun leaves her holster, you're dead. She doesn't waste a shot.'
'I've seen her gouge someone's eyes out with her thumbs. HER thumbs, for looking at her the wrong way.'
'She's his own personal attack dog.'
'She's worse than him.'
'You'll never see or hear her, before it's too late.'
And, at first, they don't believe it. There's no way that there is someone worse than him. Hell, they didn't think there was anyone worse than the Governor. But, a bat to the head and two of their beloved down, hell, he's the devil walking amongst humans. The rumors about him are all true, exceeded their expectations, and then some.
But, it's when they see her, that they really fear the rumors. She shows up by his side after the beating, dressed in all black, hair dark as night and eyes bright as the sky. Black grease paint smeared across her eyes and the bridge of her nose, making them pop more, boring into your skin and wiggling its way into your soul. She moved like a cat, graceful, silent, a look of apathy and boredom. The blood didn't bother her, the bodies didn't bother her. The snot, tears, wailing, none of that bothered her.
Cold as marble.
She eyed them, every single one of them. A hard line across her plump lips, bright eyes scanning sniveling forms. Nothing wavered across her face, nothing flickered behind her eyes, she just stared and watched, not a single sound coming from her. She glides across the forest floor, not a single leaf crunching as she circles them like a vulture, ready to tear into its prey. No one can make eye contact with her, fear constricting their bones.
If the rumors about him are true, then so are the ones about her.
When their eyes lift again, she's gone. Vanished just like the mist she waltzed in on, and their alone again, with him. He spells it out for them, takes their 'so-called' leader on a spiritual journey, and brings him back crying, snot pouring down his face and his tail between his legs.
"Half of your shit, that's all I want." Voice mocking, so sugary sweet it leaves a bad taste in their mouths. And, then they're gone, one of their own scooped up like a P.O.W, while the rest must pick up the pieces, recollect and figure what they should do.
"What do we do?" Cold eyes water, tears mingle with the sweat and blood, and clench and pull, latching on to hope, hope that isn't there.
"We do what he asks." The silence is deafening after that, defeat hot in their ears. They try to pick-up the pieces as best as the can, but it's not enough. It never really will be.
What happens, when the rumors just aren't rumors?
Comments and constructive criticism is always appreciated.