The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Even two hundred years after a nuclear 'disagreement', when new societies begin to emerge from underneath the ruins of their predecessors, the same mistakes are being repeated all over again.
In fact, you could just look around, and you would most likely find a perfect example of the ever-unchanged human mentality.
Like a smoke trail, or a wrecked truck.
Or a smoke trail coming out of a wrecked truck's engine.
This particular truck crashed not so long ago - no longer than fifteen minutes.
You could tell by the goons that were searching it and counting their victims.
"We killed four, two more ran south. Go after them if you want the full payment"
The cold voice belonging to a leader of these freelancers directed them towards their targets.
One of the three pursuers fired his weapon.
The bullet hit a young girl, no older than eighteen. She fell face down into tall grass.
"Just one more"
The last girl had nowhere to run. The only reason she wasn't executed straight away was because the freelancers noticed something... peculiar about her, and were unsure what to do.
She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty. Her dark green eyes measured her pursuers calmly. As if she didn't care.
Her chaotic, auburn hair contrasted with the emotionless expression.
But that was not the main reason that confused the freelancers.
What was so interesting about her was an apparent lack of hands - they ended abruptly at the shoulders, leaving the empty sleeves of the girl's white shirt to flap in the wind.
The goons looked at their leader, unsure about their next course of action.
"The, uh, orders still stand" - he said, commanding one of them to finish the job.
The freelancer nodded, and aimed his weapon at the girl.
That's how humanity is. Just as it always was.
But there are exceptions.
All it takes, is one person.
One person to notice the smoke.
One person to take matters into her own hands.