[ Eyes open, blinking away smoke and riot gas. The barricades are up, and established to make sure nobody gets any further. On the other side, are the gas-masked, authorities staring straight ahead, rifles at the ready. On either side are brothers and sisters in arms β without weapons β yelling, shouting, protesting.
It's a wide variety of people, familiar β even if you don't recognize them at all β before they start surging forward. More shouts. Things that should be a given; working wages, good meals, public works. 'My kid got the gray because of them!' or 'They can't even play in the river!' or any number of complaints.
Breaths kick up, faster. Look left, look right, everyone is holding the line. No breaking, no β
Someone in the front line gets into an argument with one of them. He's a fairly stocky guy (left) and he's yelling at one of them, before the cuffs come out. It's escalating. It was always meant to escalate, isn't it? Trying to make the point, show them that it isn't going to work?
Breathing harder, there's a bottle in hand. Maybe it was always going to end up this way. Why else would you have brought it. The flick of a lighter, before it's lit, a Molotov Cocktail in hand, before it's thrown right at the enforcers.
It hits the ground, spreading with fire that turns the sky and the riot gas red, smoke kicks up, and all hell breaks loose. A surge of bodies start pushing forward, the authorities jump the barricades, and both sides start fighting.. It's war. It's violent. The guns are used, bullets go flying.
The sound of a bullet impacts the body, a cry to the left, behind, and it sounds familiar. There's a lurch, somewhere in the pit of the stomach, something nauseating. And still, the fight goes on. They're coming, they're coming β The butt of a rifle lashes out, and impacts in the left eye, forcing everything to go temporarily black, and things swim back into focus.
Ratio might be greeted with the tight grimace of a man with an unblinking eye, who's arms are crossed and leaning against one of the temple walls while he tries to half-blink away... something. ]
β CLOSED to RATIO
It's a wide variety of people, familiar β even if you don't recognize them at all β before they start surging forward. More shouts. Things that should be a given; working wages, good meals, public works. 'My kid got the gray because of them!' or 'They can't even play in the river!' or any number of complaints.
Breaths kick up, faster. Look left, look right, everyone is holding the line. No breaking, no β
Someone in the front line gets into an argument with one of them. He's a fairly stocky guy (left) and he's yelling at one of them, before the cuffs come out. It's escalating. It was always meant to escalate, isn't it? Trying to make the point, show them that it isn't going to work?
Breathing harder, there's a bottle in hand. Maybe it was always going to end up this way. Why else would you have brought it. The flick of a lighter, before it's lit, a Molotov Cocktail in hand, before it's thrown right at the enforcers.
It hits the ground, spreading with fire that turns the sky and the riot gas red, smoke kicks up, and all hell breaks loose. A surge of bodies start pushing forward, the authorities jump the barricades, and both sides start fighting.. It's war. It's violent. The guns are used, bullets go flying.
The sound of a bullet impacts the body, a cry to the left, behind, and it sounds familiar. There's a lurch, somewhere in the pit of the stomach, something nauseating. And still, the fight goes on. They're coming, they're coming β The butt of a rifle lashes out, and impacts in the left eye, forcing everything to go temporarily black, and things swim back into focus.
Ratio might be greeted with the tight grimace of a man with an unblinking eye, who's arms are crossed and leaning against one of the temple walls while he tries to half-blink away... something. ]