"What . . . on earth are you talking about?" Sharp asked, his tired mind not understanding.
--------------------------
Abandoned Mcdonald Warehouse/ House HG:
Sharlin had rushed back to base ahead of the rest. While her battalions finished up in the arena, and helped the tributes out, she had more important things to do.
Sharanna would want to here about her brother, but more importantly, Sharlin had gotten bored of watching teary-eyed reunions. Plus she didn't want to talk to him anymore.
She slid through the warehouse's ground floor, dodging past guards in House uniforms and makeshift workstations. She didn't need to sneak in of course, but it was funnier to see if she could. After using some old rusty crates as cover from one last set of soldiers, she ducked down a stairwell in the buildings far corner. Greeted by the familiar musty smell, she bounced down the steps and pulled the creaky door at the bottom open.
Few people were allowed in here, Sharanna's lair.
The first room was pleasant, like the sitting room of some rich guys house. The carpet was soft under Sharlin's mud-covered boots, and it smelled too clean. The expensive looking coaches and bar were of little concern to her, however, and she moved through the room without acknowledging it.
As her hand touched the handle of the next door, her breath caught as she heard movement. Turning rapidly, and whipping out her hand-gun, she came to face the 'intruder.'
Not a spy, just a young boy sitting on one the coaches, staring vacantly at the floor. She'd walked right past him and hadn't even noticed him. He hadn't noticed her.
Taking a breath, she stuffed her gun away, forcing herself to relax. Just a new friend of Sharanna's, nothing to worry about.
(I hope this is okay with Eddie, Gavin would logistically be here, which is why I added it, I can edit this bit out).
She turned, hand on the nob again, and swung the heavy door open. Just as she always had.
Unfortunately, the room beyond was not, just as it always was.
Sharlin screamed, of course. She was still a thirteen year old girl.
Even bloodthirsty, jaded, cult-leading thirteen year old girls still screamed when they saw their sister laying on the floor, her blood painting the tiles a lovely scarlet. Even Sharlin would ignore the message on the wall (FOR SHARLEE, it said) and stare at the body.
Because death wasn't really something thirteen year-old girls should face.