Between Taylor Hebert (Skitter) and Rachel Lindt (Bitch) as friends.
The desolate landscape stretched endlessly ahead, a canvas of muted tones where nature and urban debris intersected in an uncomfortable truce. With the dwindling light casting long shadows over the broken city, two figures moved through the silence — a silence that swallowed the clamor of remembered battles, now nothing more than echoes in their shared memory.
Taylor Hebert, the girl who had been Skitter, who had been Weaver, walked with a purpose that belied the exhaustion clinging to her bones. Rachel Lindt — Bitch in what felt like another lifetime — matched her stride, her pack of dogs padding silently beside them, sentient guardians in a world that no longer played by the old rules.
The unspoken communication between them was a language shaped by hardships, a mutual respect that had survived the underlying tension from their past. Friends, they might call themselves, though the word seemed too light to bear the weight of what they had endured together.
Emerging from the husk of a shattered building, Taylor paused to survey what would be their refuge for the night. Rachel’s nod was all the confirmation she needed to settle in the relative safety of the skeletal structure. The dogs scattered, forming a perimeter as innate protectors that knew their duties well.
Darkness fell with the night bringing a chill that crept through the layers of their well-worn attire. A fire was kindled, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows that battled against the encroaching dark. The two women sat, their faces aglow with the warmth that offered a semblance of normalcy in a world that had forgotten the meaning of the word.
“We’re not being followed,” Rachel said, her voice low, as if speaking any louder might shatter the semblance of peace they had found.
“For now,” Taylor agreed. There was an edge to her voice, one that spoke of a vigilance that had never fully receded. Silence fell between them again, comfortable and familiar. Words were often unnecessary; they both carried the weight of knowing that some battles were fought in the silence of one’s own mind.
As the night deepened, so did their resolve. Here, amidst the ruins, they had found a new battlefield, one that required not masks or mantles, but the courage to face the ordinary, the mundane, the relentless march of days in a world that didn’t need saving — just building.
The stars bore witness to their journey, two shards of hope reflecting in the weary but determined gaze of Taylor and the tenacious grip of Rachel on reality. They were more than friends; they were kindred spirits, bound by a shared resolve to carve out meaning from the wreckage of a once-great civilization.
And as the fire burned lower, its embers winking like distant stars, Taylor and Rachel found comfort in the friendship that smoldered quietly between them. In the world that lay beyond the flames, friendship would be their beacon, their guide through the shattered remnants of the world.
But for now, they slept, the silence of the night their sentinel, the dreams of a new dawn waiting just beyond the horizon.