FALLEN WARRIORS

I: Group A

01;
GROUP A
AC/DC―Thunderstruck

                

               The immense power of the vociferous thunder rings loudly in her ears, pumping on her eardrums as she nonchalantly sharpens her dagger. Slicing two daggers against together as the sound of two of its metal clinks and squeals mixed with the thunder.

One week has passed by since Jorge, Brenda and she have been dropped off by WICKED to the Scorch. One week they've been pretending to be Cranks, trying to blend in with them as convincing as they can. One week and Jorge has gotten himself the title of 'The Leader of South Scorch'.

It bothers Ilithyia a little that she hasn't been the one to be able to get the title, but it's probably for the best. Jorge is wise, she gives him that. He's actually a rather not bad leader. For a pilot.

They've been waiting for the chance to finally meet Group A. Brenda honestly thought that WICKED tricked them to agree on coming to Scorch and abandoned them which Ilithyia firmly disagreed and stated that they are on a mission.

The time finally comes, two Cranks have respectfully informed Jorge that there are about a group of boys made of twenty teenagers who are on their way to the city. Jorge and Brenda have surreptitiously exchanged a knowing look before they looked at Ilithyia for a confirmation which she nodded.

They waited for one night and for them to finally reach the city. But before they could confront them, a thunder erupted from the sky and they quickly searched for a safe place to avoid the lighting that constantly strikes down from the sky to the ground.

And fortunately for them, they are in the same building where the Group A is. Ilithyia suggested Jorge, Brenda and the other Cranks keep their existence hidden from the boys and wait until the time comes.

They've been talking, discussing, completely unaware of the Cranks and the trio above on the third floor, which is actually good. That until Jorge has had enough.

"Well, I think it's time for them to acknowledge our existence, don't you think?" His brows raised in amusement as though the situation is an entertainment to his eyes. But it is just an act.

The Cranks nod their heads in anticipation, some grinning, showing their yellow, crooked, out-of-placed teeth. Some fighting a crazed giggle from escaping their mouth.

Just as one of the Subjects finishes his sentence, Ilithyia hears Jorge mumbling to her a small 'on my mark' before he appears his head from the shredded remains of the third floor, echoing the last word that the Subject said. "Food?"

Ilithyia hears a boy let out a loud gasp of surprise, follows by a question one of the boys shouts. "Who're you?"

Jorge doesn't answer immediately, instead he jumps through the jagged hole on the third floor, falling down towards them. From where Ilithyia stands, she sees Jorge crumples into a human ball at the last second before rolling three times, springs back up and lands on his feet perfectly.

"My name is Jorge," he says, his arms are outstretched, studying each Subjects in front of him, "and I'm the Crank who rules this place."

Then comes the silence where Ilithyia can hear her own heart thumping rhythmically.

"You people forget how to talk?" She hears Jorge asked humorously from the bottom of the building. "Or you just scared of the Cranks? Scared we'll pull you to the ground and eat your eyeballs out? Mmm, tasty. I love a good eyeball when the grub's runnin' short. Tastes like undercooked eggs."

When it seems that nobody will respond to Jorge's statement of him loving the taste of eyeballs, a boy with a disgusted tone answers, "you admit you're a Crank? That you're freaking crazy?"