Your family weren’t criminals. Just poor. Too poor to live in the city, not poor enough to have to scrounge. But the Council didn’t care if you were good people or not. They’re were rioters. So they fire bombed your home.

It was their solution. Who cares how it scarred you. They won.

So, nothing, not the enforcers who killed your family, not those who'd treated you like dirt your whole life, not the muggers or the murderers or the evil you lived with in the Under City held more hate in your heart than the council.

Their noses so high, their chins upturned and their scoffs and snorts diminishing your people and your struggles.

It, pained, you to stand infront of them, having them sneer down at you and roll their eyes.

If someone told you that if you threw that damn trap that kept those enforcers in a cage for a few days, that you'd be dragged into their eye-line for judgment.

Judgement on if you should enter the Academy.

When you heard that your stomach dropped. Did they really think you'd just comply? After all they did?

Their money did this. Their hatred did this. Made this duality between the whole city.

And here they were, playing god and looking at you as if you should say thank you.

They crooned about how much they respect your abilities to make such a machine in a destructive environment.

And it enraged you. How dare act like their negligence, their brutality, their incompetence didn’t cause a massacre on your people.

You strained as they raised hands, voting on who agreed you’d join their ranks.

And as they refused to look you in the eyes as they decided your fate, they suddenly realized you’d broken through your chains.

Everyone was dead silent as the chains clattered to the floor. The council stared, the crowd of fools stared.

All eyes were on you, for the first time in your life.