{stupor - the state of being stupefied; shocked}
y/n's pov:
I didn't even hear the group enter the camp – and then there they were.
"I told you, if you move an inch I will blow your head off." I spat, hissing at the girl who sat before me, a gun to her temple and a knife near her throat.
Gally sat behind her, fiddling with his blade. Beside him was another young man, with black curly hair and a nasty cut on his lip I gave him with the end of my pistol. He sat there with a vengeance, and also a small smirk.
Beside Gally sat Fry, he carried a revolver and a long spear, which he enjoyed moving uncomfortably close to the strangers who sat between us. Behind me was Tom, and next to me was Minho.
Thomas was frustrated. "Who are you people?" His words were harsh, his face displaying anger in all of its movements. It felt like a waste of time, we knew this wouldn't be happening if maybe we had been more cautious or clever – hidden our whereabouts by travelling in smaller groups at different times, or hiding the main gate within bushes or camouflage.
We were just no longer as prepared.
Before he died, we were winning. We had won. We had hidden ourselves away from Wicked, made a home for ourselves and completed our mission.
That is where we peaked, and then instantly fell. The second he died, it was game over for every one in camp. Motivation dried up quickly throughout the weeks; the insane mental exhaustion spread through camp like a disease and no previous immunity build up.
And that is why we are here now.
The girl before me spoke, locking eyes with Tom. "I gave my word I wouldn't explain before they arrived."
I looked at her confused, nudging the head of the gun into her skull. "Before who arrive?" I asked, and as her response she just smiled at me – a hint of a smirk but mostly with sweetness.
They didn't seem evil. I thought that they would be ruder, perhaps spitting on us like we were nothing because they were angry. Angry that we had caught them before they had completed what they had wanted to do.
But they weren't. They didn't seem to be furious with us, they didn't spew hatred or try desperately to reach their weapons to harm us.
And the biggest thing I couldn't understand about them – they weren't trying to break free. They just allowed it to happen. Almost as if that is what they planned for.
I felt frustrated. In a second, I holstered my weapon, grabbed a handful of the girls dark hair, and watched as I slammed her skull down onto the metal side cabinet beside her.
You could hear as her head smashed against it, and the scream she let out as it collided with the cold cabinet was shattering. I could feel her pain in my bones.
The rest of her group tensed up around me; the others said nothing.
She jolted her head up, struggling desperately against her restraints to comfort her probably broken nose. Blood poured from both nostrils, her eyes were blood shot and clouded, and her face was clearly swollen.
Unfazed, I moved my face closer to hers. "I didn't really want to do that. I'm sure you don't believe me – but I preferably would have just gotten a proper answer from you instead. Makes it easier on the both of us, don't you think?"
I stood over the girl, watching as her face morphed into complete disgust, as she opened her mouth and spat blood onto the floor. It felt like a sign of disrespect.
