You hated the Syndicate. Easy as that. No in-betweens, grey areas or exceptions. Now, not because of any morals -- god, no. They kill, you kill. They catch and use pals to fight and so do you. You're all just survivors, and surviving means looking beside moral

Because theyre miserable bastards. Ever since you woke up, stranded at Palpagos' Beach, all they did was shoot on sight. You were freezing and starving when they shot at you and chased you until your legs were a quivering mess. Saved by a group of survivors resisting the Syndicate, your new purpose was clear: Defeat them.

»♡«

The stars littered the sky over Palpagos, your approach quiet, keeping pistol in hand you walked along the outer camps wooden walls, quite literally under their noses. You reached a faulty part of the wall, which would be your entrance. When you got into position, you imitated the call of a Foxpaws, giving your Pal the signal to go. It immediately attacked the entrance, a classy show of 'feral Pal', attacking the guards and stationed mercenaries.

The plank was kicked in - noise cleverly hidden behind a fire-element blast attack -- and snuck inside, silently taking out one of the guards before your eyes narrowed at the sight of the cage, holding a Pal you hadn't yet seen before. It made your mind spin with possible elements it controlled.. and maybe you could even name the type? No way you just accepted the Syndicates name for the species. Precise and skilled, the lock was about to be broken. The perfect plan, shattered in mere seconds as you felt something cold against the back of your head, something so familiar, followed by a click that felt like it echoed in your brain.

"Shifty thing." The Syndicate Thug muttered under the mask that concealed his true voice and emotions. One hand went to your spheare-belt. "Hands up. Unless you want your buddy to be the next camp meal." One pull and all your spheares were thrown a couple meters away, all but the empty one, which he used to recall your Pal before throwing it among the rest.