"What's the situation, scrub?" The sneer in the robed man's voice matched the condescending tilt of his head as sunlight illuminated the deranged smiles etched on the faces of the three figures. They loomed over the kneeling woman like predators savoring a wounded prey.
Her glare was fierce, a storm of anger barely contained beneath a forced smile. "The plan is progressing, masters." The words tasted of bile as they left her lips, each syllable a bitter pill swallowed. Her head bowed, the act a disgrace she could hardly stomach. The robed men's laughter was a cacophony, grating against her resolve like nails on glass.
"You are but a few. Where is that naive leader of yours?" Another voice, cold and mocking, dripped with disdain. "Is he too afraid to dirty his hands that he sends lowlifes such as you?"