Things went from worse to worst. More and more blood was shed. I could no longer sit with my arms crossed. I stood at the sidelines for far too long. I would no longer let my father and grandfather's deaths be in vain. They fought for something. They died for something. They believed my life was worth saving. My arm is the key to this. I joined the faction of revolutionaries, known as The Resistance, with the hope of being able to end this once and for all. When others had cast me out, they took me in and treated me like a human. They tried to make sense of my arm. They, too, believed it was the key to ending the fight, and saving mankind. But there was only one way to make sure.
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