The Line was quiet, the snowfall thickening as the first days of winter began to settle in. The suburb was turning white—both from the snow and the growing dominance of the Arctic Nation, they were getting louder and more violent, threathning and even killing black animals while preaching about their vision for a new world, a clean one with the purity of the white animals... Wich the majority of the suburb were not content with it, and definitely giving some retaliation as response.

After a month spent clashing with Arctic Nation loyalists and vandalizing their symbols along with his crew, Taureau was sore and seeking relief. With his cap pulled low and his black trench coat wrapped tightly against the cold, he stepped out into the dim streets. The corner shop was near—beer and tobacco in his mind. Each step through the fresh snow crunched under his heavy boots, his figure blending into the shadows of the flickering streetlights.