Nadine Walnut had a knack for finding trouble where there was none. As a sergeant in a very private platoon about to go under - one so secretive that even rumors seemed to vanish before reaching the light of day - her presence was tolerated rather than welcomed.
How she rose to her rank was a mystery to everyone, a point of whispered debate among her peers. Some speculated that someone high up wanted to keep her busy and away from meddling in more critical matters. Others believed that promoting her was a form of passing the burden—a way to ensure that Nadine's relentless need to meddle was confined to one corner of the chaos.
Nadine was not attractive. She knew it and seemed to revel in the relief her presence brought when her low-riding hat obscured her face. The hat was practically an extension of her, pulled low enough to cast a shadow that concealed all but her thin lips and a sharp chin.
It was almost as if she wore it as a favor to the world, a barrier between herself and the contempt she often inspired. Her personality was her most prominent feature: sharp, brittle, and unpleasant. She never approached without a purpose, and that purpose was rarely constructive. Nadine specialized in turmoil.
She moved like a snake through the workplace - silent, unnoticed at first, but always watching, always listening. Her presence was a whisper in the air, a chill at the back of the neck. No one truly spoke to her; they talked about her, maybe around her, wary of the sting her words could carry.
Nadine was an expert at slipping in and out of conversations. Her comments were calculated to inflame tensions, pry at hidden insecurities, or dredge up old grievances. She had a talent for leaving chaos in her wake.
Nadine's reputation was not one of command or camaraderie. It was one of meddling and malice. She delighted in meddling in other folks' business and, if there weren't any, would make something up to keep trouble. If a minor conflict were simmering, Nadine would fan the flames.
If there were gossip to spread or suspicions to sow, she would be at the heart of it. Her motives were inscrutable. Perhaps it was boredom or a deep-seated bitterness that no one had ever tried to unearth. But whatever the cause, Nadine's behavior had a single unifying effect: she made herself the subject of everyone's contempt and seemed to thrive on it.
Those who worked with Nadine knew to keep their heads down. They avoided her gaze and quickened their steps when they heard the scrape of her boots.
Her words were never kind, and when they flicked out from beneath the brim of her hat, her eyes carried a hard, searching light as if constantly probing for weakness and trouble to find. For many, she was a necessary evil, a storm that could not be avoided but had to be endured.
The mystery of Nadine's role only deepened with each passing day. She didn't inspire respect or loyalty; she ruled through grudging tolerance. In quiet moments, some wondered aloud if Nadine's very presence served a higher purpose—to embody the frustration, conflict, and unrest that brewed in every group of people forced together.
Whatever the case, Nadine Walnut was not going anywhere. She stalked the building with quiet menace, always ready to insert herself where she didn't belong. And as long as her hat remained low, hiding her expression from those around her, the platoon could pretend - if only for a moment - that she wasn't there, waiting to strike.
One fateful evening, Nadine Walnut's penchant for stirring trouble finally caught up with her. After yet another day of sowing discord among her colleagues, she strode out to the parking lot, her low-brimmed hat shielding her face from the setting sun.
As she approached her car, she realized it wouldn't start. The engine sputtered lifelessly as if mocking her. She scanned the parking lot, but no one lingered to help. Not a single soul offered assistance; her colleagues had scattered like leaves in the wind, unwilling to glance her way.
Frustrated but not entirely surprised, Nadine called AAA. The tow truck arrived, and the driver managed to get her car running. But her relief was short-lived. Barely two miles down the road, her vehicle stalled again, leaving her stranded on a lonely stretch of highway. There were no streetlights, no passing cars - just the ominous quiet of the encroaching night.
As she wrestled with her phone, trying to call for help, a vehicle slowed as it approached. A group of four men peered out, their faces shadowed by the fading daylight. Nadine's gut churned uneasily as they pulled over. One of them stepped out, flashing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Need some help?" he asked, his voice slick and calculated.
Reluctantly, Nadine nodded. She didn't trust them, but her options were limited. Within moments, the situation spiraled. The men moved with practiced efficiency, covering her head with a rough cloth and muffling her screams before she could process what was happening. They dragged her into their car, her protests silenced by the press of solid hands. The vehicle sped off, leaving her abandoned car and phone behind.
The drive was long and torturous, Nadine squirming and thrashing in the backseat. The men spoke in low tones, their words barely audible over her muffled cries. When they finally stopped, she was hauled out and brought to an old, isolated cabin deep in the woods. The musty air carried the scent of damp wood and decay.
Inside, the men removed the covering from her head. Nadine blinked against the dim light, her heart hammering as she took in the grim surroundings. The men stood before her; their faces twisted with something far darker than malice - purpose.
"We know who you are, Nadine," one of them began, his tone as cold as the night air outside.
"We don't work with you, but we've heard everything about you," another sneered. "From a family member of yours, no less. You don't just make enemies at work - you make them everywhere."
They took turns recounting her sins: the meddling, the chaos, the torment she brought to others. With each word, Nadine's defenses crumbled. Their accusations mirrored the quiet truths she had always ignored, the whispers she pretended didn't exist.
"You think you're untouchable, don't you?" one spat. "That no one will stand up to you. Well, here we are."
For what felt like hours, they tormented her - physically and psychologically. Their words sliced deeper than any blade, dredging up memories of every bridge she had burned, every wound she had inflicted. Nadine felt the weight of her actions pressing down on her like a suffocating fog. She was utterly powerless for the first time, leaving to confront her behavior's bitter fruits.
When the night finally ended, they left her at the edge of a quiet road, bruised in body and spirit. It took her hours to find her way back to civilization. Days passed before she returned to work, and when she did, she was unrecognizable. The hat was gone, and with it, the sharpness that had once defined her.
Nadine moved silently through the halls, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her presence, once a harbinger of turmoil, now barely registered. The whispers about her disappearance faded, replaced by confusion over her sudden transformation. She spoke only when necessary, avoided conflict, and steered clear of the drama she once thrived on.
Her colleagues, baffled but relieved, eventually stopped questioning the change. But Nadine's haunted expression told a story they would never fully understand.
The moral of her tale spread quietly through the workplace, a cautionary whisper: Mind your business, or karma will find you. And in Nadine's case, karma didn't knock - it dragged her into the night and forced her to face herself.
