For two years it had been our home. Our shelter.
We weren't willing to share it.
Now all is lost. I'm the last to survive.
I try to ignore it, but an old song creeps into the edges of my mind...
"Do it in the name of heaven, You can justify it in the end
There won't be any trumpets blowing, Come the judgment day
On the bloody morning after, One tin soldier rides away"
New Caption:
In the not-so-distant future, where nostalgia is forbidden under the new regime, an underground movement operates to salvage fragments of the past. we hold secret gatherings, donning relics of a once-beloved world. But tonight one of our members revealed himself a spy.
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