The city with ashes. The drought increases. The joy turned sadness, while the tears of the common people were spreading flowers in the monument beside one of the city's biggest university. The monument was made of rocks where all the names were mentioned. It was enormous as a gravestone where a lot of people were shredding tears. They even share their grief that was cold enough- it was 14th September 2038, twenty years after the Student Protest against traffic increased. A lot of students were injured while some even died as well. Since then, the amount of vehicles got crashed every day by the rebels or else, the common people. The news portal, even the radio controlled by the government while the brainwashed 'thinks', it was fine.

At night, a foreigner crept into the shanty areas. He had a beard and faired face. He has a DSLR Camera which constantly hangs around the neck. The place was quiet and almost, soothing. He was listening to the sounds of two men talking in the fireplace inside the tin-build house while he looked at them and crouched out from the walls. One of them was the governor, Zabeer Uddin. He was tall, spiky haired, fair faced and thin who usually wears a blue, wrinkled designed suit with a white t-shirt on the inside while he sported a one pierced ear. His appearance even impress the girls who were brainwashed from the reality. The other one was the guard. He was sporting a purple military dress with a cap at the top while he wore a mustache above his lips. Otherwise, he was quite like a family man but unfortunately, working with a cruel man like Zabeer made his family life hellish. By the meantime, they were talking while Zabeer was beside the fireplace and the guard stood in front of him and talking at the position.

"Dear Zambia, I heard that a foreign journalist from America named Shane Kerry tried to expose our reality with the rebels" said Zabeer with the deep voice.

"I am not properly informed, sir. But as soon as I get the journalist, I will brainwash him to death!" said Zambia, the guard.

Zambia looked scared. His sweat started and came out from the head. Terrified by Zabeer's glare, he just tried to control his emotions.

"You are hiding something from me, aren't you?" sneered Zabeer in the deeper voice.

"No sir. I haven't hide anything from you!" scared Zambia.

"Then, prove it!" screamed Zabeer.

"Sir, you know that I am not one of the rebels!" petrified Zambia.

"Then why did you send all our information to that journalist, say it?" growled Zabeer.

Zabeer pointed the gun to Zambia's forehead. Zambia was bewildered with the gunpoint. His sweat did come out to the gun.

He shot Zambia with the pistol that the blood shred from his forehead to the body. Zambia smiled.

"From the people, to the people, for the people" succumbed the wound while he died slowly by laying down gently.

Death comes every day at the point when everyone silences for the time being. Birth and death are unpredictable, while the world is for no one.

It triggered the journalist and videoed it with his DSLR camera. Zabeer saw it. He commanded the other military officers to capture the journalist, he continuously ran in the slums while the guards were chasing him endlessly. The military officers were covered with glasses with their arms that were metallic. He jumped through the rooftop of the tin-shaded houses and hid himself in the jutes. While one of the guards looked at the jutes, they captured the journalist. The guard uncovered the sunglasses. The journalist shivered with cold when he looked at the eye. It was mechanically scarlet, with a metal on the side. It was flaunting round as if an android showed up-the journalist fainted. The heavy metallic arms forcefully took the journalist's unconscious body to the Central Jail. The jail was dirty enough for all the insane and harmless criminals, especially the senior citizens were sobbing by looking at the foreign journalist. It was more of a hostage room than a prison.

In between the odds, the clock ticks at the center of the city, similar to the Big Ben in London which was actually the Parliament Court that turned out to be burnt and dirty because of the veins that were covered on the corners of the courtroom and the broken statue of the lady justice turned out to be headless. The bell rang loud-it was the call of the Rebels!

A homeless, old man was warming his hands with the fire that burnt the garbage. The weather was severely cold. There was no summer since the protest. There was only severe rain and winter. His long, grey hair was waving. He looked at the long-half broken bridge which was in between the ruins of the hotels that were covered with veins of the thorny vines. Furthermore, the group of twenty black, jacketed hooded men who were running at the broken bridge with their long, skull-topped black stick. They were continuously running with grandeur as the pack of wolves or criminal, ultraviolent clowns. The homeless men smiled.

"HERE COME THE REBELS!" cried the homeless man.

The hooded men furiously rushed through the slums and stood at the center. The leader wore the red-shaped glasses where it accessed the codes while he uncovered his hood. They discovered a certain thing that it was not of an ordinary slum. Or else, it might be something else. The leader was the shape of a lean, tall, bearded man who had a full sleeved hoodie and black t-shirt inside. On the further note, he had an earphone at the back of his lobes.

"Agent-3, can you copy me?" said the leader.

"Agent-1, this area is not an ordinary slum, it's like a military ground, or may be a central jail, roger" said the receiver voice from the radio.

"Over and out" halted the leader into speaking on the earphone.

The scanner in the sunglass did saw the journalist who was tied on the thick rope while his mouth was bound with duct tape. He was scared and was huffing on the guards who were 'kissing his soul'. The rebels slowly sneaked into the guard room that the guards were only walking around. May be, they were lurkers. The leader took a boomerang-like metal which as the shape of an 'R' with a bat-like style from his pocket. He threw as if it span as fast as a bullet.

It bumped into the guard's eyes that electrocuted the whole body that he cried as if a weak dog died in the abyss. On the contrast, the other also assassinated the guards with the similar fashion. The journalist looked even more terrified when he saw the leader's scarred face that was on his right eye from the top to the bottom. While the siren's sound increased loudest, the rebels became aware of the future consequences that are about to come. The leader planted the gas pallet that it surrounded the whole slum and the central jail while the other guards tried to rush towards the rebels. The journalist was fainted again due to gas. On the contrary, the leader untied the journalist's unconscious body and gave him the mask. All the old people chanted!

They jumped to the broken bridge by hopping on to the car and pressed their walking skull sticks. As further as it went, they reached through their den that were made of wood. It was a huge cabin on the woods.

Meanwhile, the news broadcast on TV. The news reporter lied:

Today is a sad day for the countries. The criminal rebels strikes back by rescuing the petty-thief from the foreign land by killing a lot of our mechanical police forces. Now, our human police force as well as the government are now investigating the events occurring in the shanty areas...

By listening to the news on the radio, four men were sitting on a small grocery shop that were made of wood on the bottom, as the roof was made with tins. The shopkeeper was sitting inside the shop, while looking at the three more clients who were holding a meeting in the bench of the shop. Three of them were the senior citizens that the shopkeeper was the only middle-aged man on his 30s. One of the three was watching the news on his cellphone while the other was reading the newspaper regarding the same.

"I love the fucking rebels! They did a good job!" exclaimed one of the seniors who started the conversation.

"Just like always! I cannot deny that, but the only people who refuse are the ones who are brainwashed right now" said one of the seniors who folded the newspaper by looking at the first place.

"Eeh! The yellow journalism is increasing rapidly. We even cannot stop them as controlled by the notorious or so-called honorable minister 'Zabeer Uddin' to increase his popularity. Now that he sucks the hard-earned money, leaving to poverty, it is high time for the rebels to declare a civil war!" exclaimed the grocery shop owner.

The seniors shushed the shopkeeper by raising his tone.

"Will you just lower your tone? So that other people won't hear that?" whispered one of the seniors.