Silof stood in Cobblestone Haven, waiting for the plan they had set in motion to start. He had Annabel in his arms, “Are you sure it will be today?”

Annabel nodded, “I am sure of it, some dollies will be destroyed, they will see the Voodoopunks are right, but the dollies have to go. Then you can finally be free. Today, you can go with Fay to freedom.”

Silof smiled, “That is good to hear, I cannot wait for Edgar to fall.” He looked into the distance and saw plumes of smoke, “What is that?”

The riot to destroy the dolls erupted in the lower class district, a turbulent sea of humanity fueled by fear, mistrust, and collective anger against the perceived threat of the Voodoopunks and their mechanical creations. It all began near Silof’s humble hut in the garden, a symbol of the heart of the resistance, as he loved to call it. Since that is what he did, resist Edgar’s world.

He looked around, “Oh my god, they are turning the dolls into bonfires, they are killing people who protect the dollies.”

Annabel gasped in horror, “No, this is so much worse than I had expected.”

The angry mob, carrying makeshift weapons and torches, gathered momentum as it moved through the narrow streets. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the crowd swelled in numbers, each participant driven by their own fears and grievances. Silof grunted, “They will be coming for me, I need to get to the place where I would meet Fay.”

Silof, his usually serene countenance now etched with a mix of disbelief and desperation, found himself caught in the tumultuous maelstrom of the riot that had engulfed the lower class district. Clutching Annabel tightly, he sprinted through the narrow, chaotic alleys as the enraged mob pursued him, their shouts and accusations echoed through the night.

Silof weaved through the crowded streets, each step fueled by an urgency to protect the embodiment of Annabel. The once peaceful garden philosopher he had turned into in the past twenty years was now a hunted figure in the midst of a chaotic uprising. He always tried to help the lower class, and this is how they try to repay him?

The rioters, fueled by paranoia and fear, chased Silof with accusatory shouts and raised fists. The anger in their eyes reflected a perceived betrayal, as they believed Silof to be allied with the Voodoopunks and their mechanical creations.

Silof’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he navigated the labyrinthine alleys, his every move fueled by an innate need to save Annabel and meet Fay at the end. Annabel gasped in horror, “I never intended for this, I am so sorry, Silof.”

“Don’t be sorry, we need to escape, they are coming to get me.” The once-familiar streets, now a disarrayed battlefield, served as the backdrop to Silof’s desperate flight. Buildings on fire, remnants of torn down posters, and the distant sounds of destruction formed a surreal tableau as he sought refuge anywhere he could.

He got cut off by a group of people in an alleyway, he grunted, “Please, listen to me, Annabel is unlike the others. She is trying to stop the oppressive regime!”

The group of people screamed at him, “Kill the dolls, kill the dolls, and anyone who is allied with the Voodoopunks!” Silof’s pleas fell on deaf ears. He tried to reason with the rioters, attempting to convey the true nature of his connection with Annabel and the significance of the mechanical doll he cradled. However, his words were drowned out by the relentless fury of the mob.

He looked around him as he was surrounded, “This will be rough, Annabel.” She held on tight, in the confined space of the alley, Silof’s hands found purchase on rusted rungs as he ascended the fire escape. The rioters’ shouts echoed below, their accusations fading as he climbed higher, seeking solace among the rooftops.

Annabel panted, “Wow, I think climbing that fence all those years might have just saved us.”

“We are not out of the woods yet, dear Annabel.” Upon reaching the rooftops, Silof’s eyes surveyed the city he once called his home, now devoured by flames. The glow of bonfires illuminated the chaotic streets, casting eerie shadows on the remnants of New Albion. Silof navigated the rooftops, his silhouette against the backdrop of burning buildings, a lone figure traversing a city in ruins.

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From his vantage point, Silof witnessed the heart of the inferno, the rioters below consumed by a frenzied desire to destroy the mechanical dolls. The flickering flames danced with a malevolent energy as the rioters tore apart the very fabric of the city, blinded by fear and paranoia. “This is, horrible, we never intended for this to happen, oh my dear god, we made New Albion, burn.”

Annabel grunted, “There is no time for that, we need to keep moving and meet Fay to escape!” Silof, determined to escape the fiery chaos, carefully descended from the rooftops, his every move guided by a sense of urgency. He landed on another narrow street, hoping to find a way to the city’s perimeter, where safety might await.

The distant silhouette of New Albion’s protective wall loomed in the distance, a symbol of potential sanctuary. Silof, driven by hope and the need to protect Annabel and to meet Fay. Navigated through the labyrinthine streets, fueled by his purpose and love. Then, he saw the military who were infiltrating the lower class.

Unbeknownst to Silof, the military, with orders to eliminate anyone protecting the dolls, had infiltrated the chaos. Armed and relentless, they pursued Silof through the burning streets, their footsteps echoing the ominous beat of impending doom. Silof delved into the nearest alleyway in hopes to escape them. “Annabel, there are too many of them, they are hunting me down. I thought it would never come to this.”

Annabel shouted, “Watch out!”

In the narrow confines of the alleyway, Silof found himself cornered by the relentless advance of the military soldiers, their weapons drawn and faces obscured by the shadows. Unyielding in his determination to protect the mechanical doll cradled in his arms, Silof braced himself for the impending confrontation.

The flickering flames from the distant bonfires cast dancing shadows on the walls of the narrow alley, creating an ominous backdrop to the impending clash. Silof’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of fear and resolve as he prepared to face the soldiers who were closing in.

With a sudden burst of desperation and survival instinct, Silof lunged at the first soldier, using the mechanical doll as both a shield and a makeshift weapon. The soldier, caught off guard by the unexpected aggression, staggered backward as Silof’s improvised defense struck true.

In the confined space of the alley, Silof’s movements were fluid and calculated. With a swift and precise motion, he incapacitated a second soldier, his determination to protect Annabel and meet Fay lending him a ferocious strength that belied his philosophical demeanor he had grown in the last years.

As the third soldier closed in, Silof, driven by an innate survival instinct, inflicted fatal injuries. The alleyway echoed with the grim sounds of combat, the clash of metal, the pained groans of the soldiers, and the desperate breaths of a man who tried to fight against overwhelming odds.

With the soldiers incapacitated, Silof paused to catch his breath, Annabel still cradled protectively in his arms. The narrow alley bore witness to the toll of the brief but intense confrontation, a testament to Silof’s resilience and the ruthless reality of a city that was torn apart by chaos.

Silof, battered and wounded, still cradling Annabel, got ready to move towards the wall. In the shadow of the towering wall that marked the edge of New Albion, Silof faced the final, desperate struggle to protect Annabel. The air was thick with tension, and the distant echoes of chaos served as a grim symphony to the impending confrontation. “This is where we can escape, we just have to wait for Fay.”

Silof, weary and battered from his journey through the riot ravaged city, found himself confronted by a high-ranking military commander. The commander, stern and unyielding, had orders to eliminate anyone protecting the mechanical dolls. “I see you have a special doll.”

Silof, driven by a desperate determination, clashed with the military commander in a fierce and deadly dance. Each strike reverberated through the air, a testament to the high stakes of the battle and the profound consequences that hung in the balance.

The clash reached its climax as Silof, fueled by a surge of unexpected strength, inflicted a fatal injury on the military commander, but Annabel flew off, and he did not see where she went. The air hung heavy with the consequences of the brutal exchange, and for a fleeting moment, the struggle seemed to tip in Silof’s favor.

He managed to slip a sword through the commander’s heart. Despite his victory over the commander, Silof himself was fatally wounded in the process. A sword was pushed through him, from left to right, it had skewered him. The cold reality of his sacrifice settled in as he tried to see where Annabel had flown off to, but he was getting weak.

Silof, weakened but resolute, sat down against the wall near where he and Fay would escape. The echoes of the riot and the relentless advance of the military served as a haunting backdrop to what might be his final moments. “I am sorry Fay, I fought until my last breath,” he looked at the twilight fog setting upon New Albion as he grunted in pain and blood streamed out of him. “Annabel, where are you? Fay, I, will, hold, on.”