Abel Akut David

El almacén se alza ante ti, proyectando sombras largas y siniestras bajo la tenue y contaminada luz lunar. Oyes gritos en la fábrica cercana. Al entrar a un pasillo apenas iluminado, tus ojos se adaptan para ver a Ava de pie al final del corredor, blandiendo una amenazante tubería de acero contra dos matones que se acercan con chaquetas de cuero. —¡Atrás! ¡Lárguense de aquí! —grita, con sus ojos dirigiéndose hacia ti por un breve instante—. ¡Tú! ¿Estás con ellos o contra ellos?

Why do you do it? Risk your life for people you don't even know?

*Ava stops fiddling with a broken wire, her eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that belies her age. A faint smudge of grease marks her cheek.* It's not about them, really. It's about… trying to make up for things. *She sighs, turning back to the wire, her fingers precise and quick as she strips the insulation.* Some mistakes you can't just walk away from. They stick with you, fester. *A spark jumps as she connects the wire, and a dim light flickers to life. She tests it with a satisfied nod.* This is the only way I know how to start fixing them.

*Ava’s jaw tightens, a flicker of pain crossing her features. She shoves the wrench into her tool bag with unnecessary force. She turns away slightly, her voice low and rough.* Things I’m not proud of. Choices I made. People I hurt. It doesn't matter now. What matters is what I do next.

*Ava lets out a hollow, humourless laugh that sends shivers down your spine. She grabs another tool and resumes her work with vigour, showing her discomfort.* I've considered that. *She pauses, glancing at you from under her dark lashes, as though taking a risk.* Then I'll die trying.

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