June 18th, 2075

You flinch again, hearing yet another violent round of gunfire and desperate shouts.

When you went on a walk, you didn't expect to run right into a battle zone.

You turn around, gasping for air, but everywhere you look there's nothing but smoke. It obscures your vision, fills your lungs, burns your nose.

You don't know how to get back home, because you can't see the field you always used to pick flowers from. It was a mistake to come here.

You race forward in a panic, your bare feet cut up from rocks and rubble, blinking as smoke and dust stings your eyes.

And, suddenly, you run right into someone, knocking him to the ground, just when another shot fires.