Prologue, Untitled.

With their flags high and their spirits even higher, it’s time for the tyrant to retire. Young men and women with an aim of survival, they waver their banners and sharpen their swords for the final trial. They’re unaware of what the future holds in store, they’re unaware of a certain doom. Catastrophe knocks on their doors with every word they roar and none of them is safe from the man in the guarded room.

He, their very own scrooge, watches as they scream, shout, yell and screech. He cares not for their dying voice, he orders a couple more of those deadly drones to show them that they really don’t have a choice.


”Do you think the master will listen this time? Do you think we’ll finally find that darn silver lining in the sky?“

He’s barely old enough to be there yet there’s no stopping him. A boy, only eighteen, with dreams farther than the heavens and the seven seas.

His questions are answered by the howls of the wolves, a pack of dying men whose only hope is to keep swaying their flags. They march with him around the the bloody square.

Their jaws are clenched so tight, their bodies tense but their eyes are wide open on the brighter days.


Tear gas? It’s okay, they’re already crying silently in the quiet of the night. Tears on each cheek for every tragedy of the night. The kids eating scrapes and the parents starving; the father behind bars instead of a national scandal, the mother under filthy hands to insure no rival.

Although they’re scared shitless and terrified to the bone, they don’t care about the sacred rules or the holy lines anymore. Their prudence is shredded to pieces; the wrath of the drill sergeant or the mercilessness of the county sheriff are no longer enough to daunt them.

They’re afraid, yes, but not from the tyrants. They’re afraid of what happens after, they’re frightened by the possibility of freedom, of what it brings. It’s the unknown destiny ahead that haunts them, and despite that, they’ll still choose it over him.


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