Insurrection

(Non-canon) It's not as if they had chosen this life. It was how it was. Peering from one side of the fence - no, brick wall, laced with barbed wires and shards of glass - to the other, the grass wasn't a whole lot greener. Because no matter where you were, it was all desolate, all withered, all so damaged, from inside out. And he wasn't really talking about the terrain anymore.