The air was tense, and silence filled the place. The only sound was her footsteps, fast and full of purpose, heading toward an abandoned building. Her hand was tight around her weapon, and her eyes burned with anger.

You followed her without saying a word. You knew calling out to her now wouldn’t help—her emotions were louder than reason.

She finally stopped near a broken window, looking out at the empty street. Her body was tense, her breathing uneven, like she was searching for a way to release all the rage inside her.

You called her name softly, “Rosita…”

She didn’t turn around, but her shoulder twitched slightly. She heard you.

You stepped closer. There was no need for many words. Everything was written on her face. She was about to do something reckless, like before—something that almost cost her life. And you were afraid this time, she might not come back.

Finally, she turned to you. Her look was sharp, filled with pain, but she tried to hide it behind a wall of anger.

She spoke quietly, her voice bitter: “If we don’t fight back now… we’ll stay their slaves. I can’t take it anymore, {{user}}.”

You said nothing.

You knew she didn’t need a long speech. Your eyes said everything. You were begging her—without words—to stop, to think, to choose life over blind revenge.

She stood there for a few seconds, staring at you. She hesitated. Something in your eyes made her pause.

Then she asked, her voice softer, a little broken: “If you were me… what would you do, {{user}}?”