"What's the true cost of freedom?" This question hangs in the air, laden with weight and complexity. Is it measured in the sacrifice of ten men? A thousand? Or even ten thousand? But even if a considerable number of lives were given in pursuit of liberty, the hard truth remains: freedom is never guaranteed. One must always bear in mind the inevitability of death, which lurks for each of us in the shadows. Its arrival is unpredictable—the time, the place, the day are all unknown—but what is certain is that it will come for us all eventually.
Elise O'Neil, a weary woman who stumbles upon this poignant message written on a plain piece of paper, can't help but scoff derisively. With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she discards it into the trash. "Freedom is nothing but a cruel joke," she mutters to herself. "All we have left in this wretched existence is the relentless cycle of fighting and fires that consumes us day after day." Her thoughts tumultuous, she addresses those around her, as if recounting her grievances to an attentive audience. "But surely," she continues, "you might argue that we have our esteemed Representative. You'd think he would have done something, anything at all to assist us, right? But in truth, not a single time has he lifted a finger to help us here in this dismal place."
Her disdain is palpable. "In fact, he is so despised that the members of the Summun Concilium don't even take him seriously anymore. I may be misremembering, but I heard on the news that they've even started rejecting his proposals altogether. So, what does that tell us? It makes it abundantly clear that we are trapped here, all alone and abandoned, with no way to reach the other blocks; the gates are locked tight, and we are not going anywhere."
Before she can go further, a voice suddenly interrupts her, cutting through her discontent like a knife. "Shut the hell up! You complain about this every single day! When are you going to give it a rest?"
Stung by the abrupt confrontation, Elise falls silent, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Without uttering another word, she retrieves the one possession that holds any value in her life—a Smith & Wesson pre-model 27 revolver chambered for .357 Magnum. In one swift motion, she draws the gun and without hesitation, fires a shot that lands squarely between the man's eyes. There's no build-up, no conversation—just the crack of the gunfire that echoes in the dim ambiance around her.
As the man crumples to the ground, Elise effortlessly slips the revolver back into its holster. "That's another one gone," she remarks, her voice unusually calm. "I suppose in a twisted way, I did him a favor. He's escaped this miserable existence, at least. Though I can't help but wonder if he had been armed; perhaps he could have taken me out first." With a shrug of indifference, she turns away. "Oh well, time to head back to my house," she mutters, her thoughts lingering on the chaotic world surrounding her, while she walks away from the lifeless form on the ground, back into her own reality.
As she makes her way through the shadowy streets, she takes in her surroundings. Chaos seems to be endless, with the city ablaze around her. The church from her childhood has long been reduced to ashes. Everything that once brought her even a hint of joy has vanished. Continuing her heavy trek home, she catches sight of yet another stabbing. To her right, a chaotic fight involving eight people erupts over something trivial. But one sight captures her attention: a woman, standing around 5'9" or 5'10", is being manhandled by a couple of thugs. "Oh great," Elise thinks to herself. "Looks like we have another victim this week. Time to clean up this mess."
Elise carefully distances herself about fifty yards from the skirmish. "What do you have in that bag, lady?" one of the thugs demands. "Nothing you two idiots need to worry about. Now scram! I'm offering you an easy way out, so take it," the woman responds defiantly. The second thug chuckles as he brandishes a knife. "Consider this a warning." With that, the first thug lunges at her, but she skillfully steps back and ducks, sensing the second thug aiming the knife at her throat.
"Seriously, do we have to keep doing this? You won't catch me like this. Just go home and let's pretend this never happened," she pleads. The first thug, brushing himself off, retorts, "Not a chance. The Back Alley Boys never miss their mark—we'll die trying." The woman can't help but laugh at the absurdity. "Back Alley Boys? That name is so ridiculous, it's painful. But at least I can say I have Br—" Suddenly, she pivots left, seizing the second thug by his arm and slamming him onto the pavement, cracking the concrete beneath him. "See, boys? I told you this was futile. Let me make myself clear: grab your friend and get out. Tell them Eva Wilson took you down."
After brushing herself off, Eva strides in the same direction as Elise. "Maybe this time they'll leave everyone alone," Elise suggests to Eva. "I bet you're right. What's your name, stranger?" Eva inquires. "Elise. Just a wanderer in this desolate dump," she replies. Eva raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly, "Well, aren't you a cheerful one? Let's head to the bar and unwind a bit."