I watch around the corner as those I rallied begin to make signs for our upcoming protest. Chates should be setting everything up. My research with the channelers has been rather fruitful, but let's see if the strikes will provide even more so. Time is not on our side, and we cannot go back now. The race against time started a long while, and now we must approach the finish line first.

"What's going on?" I hear a younger boy asks.

I don't need to turn around to know a bit about him. He's a handsome figure with black hair and a collection of newspapers.

"If I am to gamble on this, I'd say your next headline."

He looks around me and, from what I can tell, shows signs of concern.

"Strikes have been done countless times before, resulting in many injuries, with no success. With the comatose issue still around, adding more casualties doesn't sound like a good idea."

"It is everyone's right to play the game of life as they see fit. To be deprived for the sake of a minority isn't just."

I pick up my own sign.

"Cowardice is the very reason the rich have thrived. They only hear their own voices."

The boy continues to look at me as I join the crowd.

(He's courageous,) the boy thinks, (Perhaps too much so in this hellhole of scumbags.)