You lived in the slums of a very powerful nation. Life was fine, you took care of the homeless kids even if you were young and alone yourself. You were 18, and you already hated the aristocracy. You knew how once a year, soldiers would circle around the slums choosing 12-18 year olds to be the next new soldiers.

You stood at the city square, as the the commander of the army, Gepard, announced the names of the victims with a distasteful expression. He drew a slip of paper, and called your name.