Terror Taya (Prologue)

A cold wind blew through the streets on this mid-October day. Winding through the streets, it was enough to send a chill through anyone who failed to bundle themselves with layers as clouds consumed the nighttime skies and delicate snowflakes descended, eager to reunite with the land as the sun departed. It was peaceful.

This peace even extended to the back alley that stretched past the nearly empty gas station and into that lot, one that was usually vacant but now occupied. The ground littered with individuals, either unconscious or on the verge of passing out from pain, all bloodied and bruised as they wore matching colors of green and grey.

Among the bunch stood one figure, nearly six feet in height with lean muscle, holding a bent baseball bat, not one they had arrived with but gained in the flurry of the failed ambush against them. The figure was that of a shapely woman’s with dark skin, dark brown eyes, and long hair braided back. On her person, she wore a multicolored striped button up, left open to expose her bare chest and gold necklace, tucked into a pair of green slacks, held high at the waist with a brown belt, on her feet a pair of black boots. Feeling them slip, she uses her free hand’s palm to push her glasses from touching her nose ring, keeping the blood along her fingers from touching her.

A person nearest the exit stirred, groaning in pain as they struggled to keep conscious, crawling t another nearby wall. Slowly, the tall woman stepped over and cut them all, slamming the end of the bat into the ground before them. Shaking, either from the cold or fear, they raised their head to meet eyes, unable to anticipate what would come.

“Who… am I?” The woman asked quietly.

“W-What?” They asked, dumbfounded. When her glare remained unmoving, they clenched their teeth, answering reluctantly. “Taya.”

“Taya what?” Taya asked, pressing her words.

“Taya… Terror Taya.”

“Right. Get your friends when you get can. Get out of here.” Her mouth voiced emotionlessly as she tossed the baseball bat over the high alley wall and began walking away, hearing the pained victim struggle behind, soon drowned out by the distance, the crunching leaves beneath her feet, and the growing squeals of  tires and traffic.

But in that alley between the two, none could drown out the inevitable; the sound of a tear falling from a chin, a sniffle that was refused to be restrained, and a heart snapping once again. Terror? What other names were circulating for her now? As a hand wiped her cheeks, she could only smile sadly. By now, this was her reality. By now, what more could she ever hope to be?