From the Lands Turned to Soot

(Shingles is a tank to be sure)

The last enemy dropped from Shingles's fingers in shreds, and the scarecrow turned to stare at Rhys.
"Easy," Jackson said warily, holding up a hand.

She didn't move. "I killed a couple too, they're no friends of mine." Her eyes scanned the group. One of them was wearing her satchel that had been taken.

Shingles still seemed to be in attack mode, but he circled away from her.
"Good work," Jackson congratulated them both.

She moved to search the bodies. By the looks of it they hadn't yet made it back to their camp or wherever they were hiding out. She saw a couple of pistols in ones belt and hurried over, taking them. They were drenched in blood, courtesy of the scarecrow.

"Nice pieces," Jackson mused, observing them. "Are you any good with guns?"

"Good enough." She didn't pay them much heed as she searched each corpse, recovering most of what she'd lost and then some. The most valuable pieces other than food and water were tools, ammunition, and miscellaneous metal parts that could be melted down or used to repair weapons. She discovered an extra bag of those alongside one fellow who'd had his throat ripped out.

She'd taken note to never, under any circumstances, cross the raggedy fellow.

"Could we maybe split the rations and water?" Jackson asked. "Since Shingles did most of the work. Our human requires extra sustenance; he started out on fairly low energy."

"Is he your prisoner?" She paused after that, wondering why she was asking. She didn't care who they were. "Fine, but I'm taking what they stole from me first and then we can split what was theirs."

"He's an esteemed companion." Jackson approached, though they gave her a wide birth. "Roland is an inventor! He created all robots."

"Then what's with the shackles?" She continued her rummaging and recovered her weapons. Her crossbow was lying off to the side. It was scratched but still functional. Carefully setting the string to its rest position she slung the weapon over her shoulder where it was held fast with a strap.

"Oh, we can't get them off. We've tried pulling and chopping, but it's metal. We would need a smith to strike them off. He was a prisoner of Eimir." They followed after her. "What do you call yourself, human?"

(That's the name of the spirit as of just now)

She stopped and looked at them, suddenly a bit more interested. "A prisoner? How did you escape?" Her eyes turned to Roland.

Roland had joined them after the sounds of the fighting stopped, and he adjusted his glasses self-consciously. "I played dead," he admitted. "And then Jackson and the others found me outside in the pile of corpses. It wasn't very hard, I was even skinnier than I am now."

She bit her lip with the urge to ask more questions. This one might have some valuable information. She recovered the rest of her supplies and threw them what was left of the water and food.

Jackson caught it with ease and offered it to Roland. Roland took the food and broke off a small bit of bread and took a little sip of water.
"Did we win?" Bug demanded as he cleared the corner. "Ahhh, Shingles did it again. Good work, boy!"
"He's not a dog," Jackson said wearily.