LaMesha paced City Two: bored and disinterested. Never once imagined five years later that all she’d become was uneventful. She spun the revolver given to her, a Geogen-issued one. Her weapon was the newest model to come out this year; still worthless because she had never used it. She wondered what significance did she make standing there.
LaMesha twirled it some more before she pointed it at an old stop sign: It leaned to the side and stood faded almost becoming unreadable. LaMesha looked around towards the alleyways, the various buildings, and then far out into the broken streets—it was safe, she felt a sense to get some practice in. LaMesha twirled her gun.
“Stop, thief, lower your weapon,” LaMesha said. Her dull voice never fluctuated in pitch.
