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The Insurgent

He never wanted to be an extremist.

He’s no fool; he knows that things before the invasion were bad, that the system was broken. But he believed that given the chance to be its own, his country could have fixed itself. Not anymore.

Their rhetoric is all about freedom, but they’ve forced in new governance as if the tyranny of the many differs from that of the few. Their freedom smells like resources, gouging, white grins and money.

He had to choose a side. He had to.

With heavy shoulders, he opens the chest and pulls out his long white hood.

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