polerin

The fighter stands against the legions, battered and worn but still proud. Sure of his purpose and sure of the righteousness of his cause he waits on his roof in a shadow. He rummages through his bag to pull his last bit of bread out, but it's more than most of the civilians have. Blood stains and dirt color his clothes, making it difficult to tell what he is wearing. He has only an old rifle and a few rounds but knows it's up to him and his brothers to save his city from what he hears coming. Suddenly a tank turns the corner to roll down his road, it's infantry escort glued to the walls on either side.
( more behind the cut, (warning, depressing) )