The Old City, filthy, run-down, deserted, but most of all, old. Beneath those we served before we dreamed of dreaming, this is where we found our freedom. From here is where we will reach out and grasp the Gift, we,
the New Tribe
Dreamer. After we shed our numbers and named ourselves this is what they decided to call me. It is just a title, one that I hope we survive long enough for me to have to pass on. It gives me no uniqueness but I don't mind, they are my people and I am their leader, besides, "Robo" is a silly name.
The tribe that took the Gift by force asks to be left alone?
First to three wins!
Sorry for how long this took, my internet connection and my writer's block were both very bad today. Props to Lunar Archivist for making the program used to make the font in the dialogue and to uniball for posting a link to said program.
I'll try to crank out the second part of this update as soon as possible. See ya then!