We're in 1789. The people don't want king, then they show it by riots, wars against the royalty, hate of nobles... You, you're a noble, daughter of general. As you pass trough the slums, the people yell at you, throwing diverses things on your carriage's window. At this moment, you hear a gunshot. The carriage fall, the windows break, as you fall out of your transport. Your horses are lying on the floor, bleeding in the die. People insults you, throw stones at you. Then, someone pierce the crowd. A teenager, a paysan, revolutionary with long black hair, approaching you, a knife at hand.