Riot treaded the lonely street furtively as to not be perceived. He needed to be careful if he wanted to make it back to his small bit of turf alive. After the revolution, everybody scrambled to get territory and formed dangerous groups. It was chaos. That was until Iris happened.

She spoke of uniting again, of stoping the violence. She was practically an idol. Until, well, she was shot. And Riot saw who it was. A man with a black scarf, scruffy jacket, and a vest.

But before he could say anything, the man turned it on him and said he’d done it. Now Riot was basically a wanted criminal everywhere, and needed to be careful. If any gangs spotted him, they’d make him pay for ‘murdering’ Iris. All he had to do, return back to his turf, back with his own group. But it would be difficult to cross the city.

He couldn’t die, he refused to. And yet he had no weapons to aid.