'What a shitty day.' At least she'd wriggled her hands from the very coarse rope that they had been tied together with, and her captors—who she had heard were called "Pit Scouts" from others in her group—had run out of rope before getting to her ankles. They had said some absolutely vulgar things about that situation, but Morta was little perturbed. They were in the back of an old van. It was terribly hot, quite dim, and damp. Not to mention that the smell was awful. Morta wanted to gag every time she had to take anything more than a shallow breath.
But, she suffered along much better than her handful of counterparts. Many were trying to cry in silence, and some did not even try to quiet their moans and groans and sobs. Morta rolled her eyes. Wallowing in pessimism would not get one anywhere. And she was very sure that she was going somewhere. Somewhere outside of the clutch of the Scouts, in fact, was her particular destination.
They were close to the Pit. That was what she had heard them call it. What she had imagined it to be, though, was nothing close to what it was. They were herded and corralled out of the van and into a dark underworld. Morta wished that she might only be guilty of committing hyperbolic description, but truly it was. Underground and hot, cramped even from outside the limits of the shacks that composed the unofficial borders of the civilization.
Slipping away was no easy feat. She had to be careful, inconspicuous, and deny guilt at leaving the others behind. To Morta, however, staying in the group was no option. She did not know what her fate would be if she did, but she was fully prepared to never find out. Under the cover of disorganized chaos as one man fainted away, she ducked out and ran to the nearest shadow. She had long since been swallowed by the labyrinthine alleyways by the time anyone noticed that she was missing.
It was only by happenstance that she found herself passed by the man. At least, she assumed it was a man. He had metallic tentacles protruding from his back, and they were tinged with blood. Something about the way he carried himself spoke of victory, and she followed him. He had an aura about him: quiet strength. She quite liked that, and felt like by being near enough to him that anyone else who tried to harm her as the Pit Scouts had would be discouraged from such acts. So, she followed in the shadows, watching with wide, curious eyes as she moved along with him.