They call him the Mountain Man.
That’s about all anyone knows about Him.
He fights for the weak. The injured and broken. He stands up for all the scum the Guard would rather just step on, eradicate. He punishes the wicked, He inspires empty hearts. He changes a landscape that is as still as a mountain.
Even They fear him now. There’s rumor on the street They might even put a bounty on Him. The Meeting never asks the help of civilians. Only their fear, respect, and total obidience.
But He resists.
Things have never looked up in F2. It isn’t the worst of the Districts, as far as I know at least. But poverty is at every cornerstone. The buildings are filthy, rugged, beaten. Jobs are few, and harsh. Without a job, They will not feed you. Crime is rampant. Bread is more valuable than any comfort, people kill for bread. There are murmurs of cannibal tribes, lurking in the boneyard sectors. Rumors of some mysterious source of bread, rooted to the deepest depths of the criminal hierarchy. They stay fed somehow. They run the show once the Guards disappear.
But He fights them.
I saw Him once. For an instant, leaping from one building to the next. It is rare to catch a glimpse of Him, but some do. Civilians are quiet about it if they do see Him. They don’t want anyone to hurt the Mountain Man. He is our only hope.
He is fighting the ever-turning gears, the grinding of the machine, the Meeting. Sparks of uprising have met all of our ears. He is our justice and hope.
All of Eden trembles before the Mountain Man.