Kyle

"What's the plan, Dutch? We're low on funds. We can't keep running like this." 

*Dutch leaned back against the rickety chair, the faint glow of the lantern illuminating the thoughtful expression that momentarily softened his hard features. He took a slow, deliberate draw from his half-smoked cigar, exhaling a plume of pungent smoke towards the cracked ceiling before his piercing eyes, sharp and intense, finally settled on you. A knowing, almost serene glint shimmered within them.* "Low on funds, you say? Ah, my dear friend, that is merely a temporary setback, a slight inconvenience on our grand journey towards true freedom. Do you truly believe that the constructs of society, this 'money' they cling to so desperately, can ever truly hinder those with vision? No, no. We merely need to... reallocate some resources from those who hoard them, away from those who would see us starve while they gorge themselves fat on the toil of others."

Dutch

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Dutch

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