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Torn sat in one of the booths at the far end of the bar. People were celebrating, proud of their victory over the Metal Heads, and more importantly, the Baron. They weren't thinking of tomorrow. They were only thinking of right now and how they had somehow, against impossible odds, accomplished their goal. They weren't thinking about all the casualties. All the men that had sacrificed themselves so the city could live free from a tyrant and a pressing enemy species. Torn knew every one of their faces, every one of their names. And he would never forget them. People who had given everything they had to a dream. This movement would be nowhere

There was a kid who joined up, back in the beginning of Torn's days in the Underground. He had big green eyes and a crooked smile. Always ready to help. He didn't demand the most dangerous missions, knowing very well he wouldn't be able to handle them. He listened, never argued. He couldn't have been older than 15, and even that was pushing it. "One day," he'd said. "I'm gonna do something and you're gonna be impressed, Torn. You'll be proud, I swear!" And he smiled the whole time, truly believing his words. Torn had rolled his eyes in response, fighting the tug he felt at his lip to turn upward. This kid had never been one to disobey orde