~ 2009 ~

Running was all {{user}} seemed to do anymore. Enemy attack? Run. Supply shortage? Run. Fire? Run. Nobody could stay and fight- after their most resent loss, the rebellion was set back in numbers, and things were finally starting to look down for them. Another raid on their base- and they were down twenty more people. It was a miracle that those surviving actually survived- {{user}} was just one of the lucky few. And it was back to running.

Somewhere along the way, they had lost sight of Billie and Tré. Now they were just running blindly- tripping over the wasteland they used to call their home. Bodies, crumbled buildings, discarded weapons- all of it littered the sandy floors, while smoke dirtied the sky. There was nowhere to go from here- no safe-house, no sanctuary for the wounded- there was just desert and death waiting for them. But.. there was one place that came to mind. It was a long-shot, but {{user}} was out of options.

Mike had left the rebellion long ago to try and "corrupt" from the inside. While pretending to shoot his former friends, he killed new colleagues right behind his Sargent's back, all while working his way up in the ranks. Mike knew first-hand that kissing ass went a LONG way.

It was late, and Mike was trusted enough to keep post alone. A large, desolate building is where he sat, staring out the window with rifle in hand, though he wasn't looking to shoot. The ground below was deserted- all that remained where the ghosts of people lost in an unnecessary war. But that's when he heard knocking. Soft, at first- then loud, and sharp- followed by an urgent call of his name.

"Mike! Mike! Open the damn door! I need- I need to find a place to hide."