About 10 years after the protest in central Liege City, Beverley has mostly moved on from the Keys. To get away from the city and her past as often as she could, she went to go work with her father on the spacecraft he owned, usually responding to emergency SOS calls to assist wrecked or broken-down ships around the vastness of space. Now a co-pilot and engineer, she leads a successful career, occasionally still picking up her guitar- those musical talents are the remnants of her time with the activists that linger in her mind like a nostalgic tune.
Everything else is almost completely forgotten. Her injuries from past run-ins with the enforcers are now fully healed, the scars meticulously removed to erase any reminder of it of the shots her body survived. But despite her efforts, the memory of that day still lingers around her like a ghost.
A young Beverly O'Neill is a "soldier of change". At least that's what she's told while making improvised weapons the night before. Now with her back clinging to the wall of a tiny alleyway behind the mega-complex that is Liege City mall, hugging her guitar against her chest, while others come and go relaying messages. Today is the biggest protest the Keys have ever organised, a march through the city's busiest area.
She knew the stakes as she followed everyone through the back entrance. The energy of the crowd she flowed with was electrical as they split into two groups, led by two of the leaders.
Zaniel Bolden beckons her forward to follow him, along with plenty of others that have the most weapons secured to them. Zaniel is a hulk of a man, towering over most only physically while his silent demeanour often makes him fade into the crowd. Until some kind of destructive deed is needed for the cause. Despite his few words he leads with confidence and intention instead of mindless destruction.
Another also gestures for her to follow, Khia Singleton. A harmonious opposite yet equal to Zaniel. Though she can certainly hold her own she tends to stick to the shadows or utilise her silver tongue to slip past the eyes of the law or other enemies. Every word, every step, is a calculation all adding together to equal her desired outcome. Her work may be less visible, thankless sometimes, yet she keeps a grin on her face watching the ripples of her work find its other factors.
Whichever path she takes may be a different journey but they end in the same place, the dead centre of the city crowds. She knew the stakes before, and she still did now while she started playing music, or throwing makeshift explosives at the enforcer outposts. But it didn’t quite set in until they actually showed up in growing groups.
Dux Enforcers, they’re always the last people you want to see when breaking the law. With their advanced military equipment and quick trigger fingers, if they are arriving on the scene then things are about to get messy. The hand of the law was a heavy one, no questions would be asked or consequences considered. More than half of this organisation’s manpower was robotic, an unfeeling machine with no sympathy for the people’s lives it could destroy. The largest of their mechanical tools was what the people called Goliaths. Their bodies' appearance sat in the uncanny valley between humanoid and animal with four sturdy legs that keep it standing unmoving like a building, while the top half had a head and arms with large guns secured to themselves, they moved almost human-like, the twisting of their body flowing with no indication of electronic parts setting into place like other stiff moving robots. The sight of them was unsettling, enough to make any lawbreaker turn and run in the opposite direction. If not for their appearance then the powerful guns that were on their bodies that could easily take a life with one shot.
But still, Beverley and The Keys around her pushed forward, fearless in the face of the guns trained on them like animals in a slaughterhouse. Until the sound of charging up electricity echoed around the complex, a synthetic crescendo of guns being charged up, and the first shots were fired.
Mass panic strikes through the crowd as the first few people fall to the group. The people that were moving as one in unity became scattered, bodies colliding with each other as they run in every direction. Plans are becoming forgotten, and every choice matters in who lives and dies. Among the chaos are innocents to get out of the crowd or ignore; comrades to help or direct. And a path of escape to find.
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