The Bandit Camp

The woods were darker than Sherry had anticipated. The moonlight barely pierced the dense foliage, casting long, menacing shadows that seemed to dance in the flickering glow of the distant campfire. She could see the silhouettes of men huddled around the flames, their rough laughter creating an eerie soundtrack to the otherwise still night.

Gripping her cloak, Sherry reminded herself, "Subtlety is key." Her heart played a staccato rhythm against her ribs, mirroring the apprehension coursing through her. She gnawed at her lower lip. Should she walk in openly? Or sneak in somehow? Neither option seemed particularly appealing.

Then, she had an idea. Demonic possession victims often made loud groans, didn't they? At least, that's what she had read in her research. She had never heard these groans in person, but it was worth a try. Taking a deep breath, she let out a groan that echoed through the trees, as guttural as she could bear.

The laughter around the campfire suddenly halted. Silence fell over the forest as the men sprang to their feet, weapons drawn. Sherry could hear them whispering amongst themselves, their voices filled with unease.

"What in the blazes was that?"

"Sounded like a dying deer."

"Or a buffalo."

The men readied their firearms. Sherry's heart pounded harder. Their response was far more hostile than she had anticipated. She needed to defuse the situation before it escalated any further. Gathering her courage, she stepped out from the shadows, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"I...uh...I'm sorry for the noise," she stuttered, her face flushing in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to startle you."

A palpable confusion hung over the men. One of them, a burly figure with a scar running down his face, stepped forward.

"Why the hell were you howling like that, girl?" he demanded, his eyes suspicious.

The groans she failed to emulate only came from late stage demonic possession, Sherry remembered. "I...uh..." Sherry stuttered. She decided to recite the one line she practiced, "Water, please... I'm not feeling well..."

Before anyone could respond, she activated Chameleon. A grotesque mass began to unfurl from her left arm, contorting and throbbing in an unnerving display of abnormality.

"Demonic possession!" one of the men screamed. Unlike the patrons in the tavern, however, these men did not flee. Instead, they encircled her, their weapons still drawn.

"Boss! You better come out here!" one of them called out.

With the grotesque transformation of Sherry's arm, the bandits erupted into a flurry of whispers. Their faces, illuminated by the campfire, showed a mix of intrigue and unease.

A commanding voice echoed from the shadows, silencing the men instantly. "Enough chatter," it boomed, the unseen figure exerting an immediate and undeniable authority.

From the darkness emerged a man, the bandit leader, whose appearance instantly commanded respect. His gaze fell upon Sherry's grotesque arm, a grimace contorting his features. "I've no clue why," he began, "but there's someone who would pay handsomely for the likes of you."

Sherry flops her ball of arm to the ground. Does that mean she did it? She tried to keep her expression neutral, not wanting to disrupt the delicate balance of the moment.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," the man chided. "We're not slavers. Bandits ain't all cut from the same unsavory cloth, you know. It's just that...," his gaze returned to the softly undulating mass of an arm. "Your days are numbered, aren't they? Maybe three at the most before you lose all sense of self. You might as well make yourself useful!"

"Yes, absolutely, I'm happy to help!" Sherry chirped. She bows her head in a show of deference.

Her readiness to comply seemed to momentarily disconcert the bandit leader. She lifts her head up noticing the unfamiliar tension in the air. "I mean-" Was she still supposed to play hard to get?

A weighty silence hung over the camp. punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. It stretched on, seemingly interminable, until the bandit leader nodded, as though reaching some internal consensus. "Thanks," he said, the word sounding oddly genuine.

The boss turned to the crew and issued a directive, "Lock her up! Don't worry, she's harmless." Relief washes over Sherry.

The men herded her into a cage at the rear of a nearby carriage, practically rolling her into it. They then draped a cloth over her humble new home likely to conceal the unsightly spectacle she had become.

"This... is going exactly as planned," she murmured to herself, her quiet voice resonating with a newfound confidence. This was not the timid whisper of a captive, but the assertive declaration of a woman who had, against all odds, accomplished what she had set out to do. Surely.