"Ah." Considering her question, he looked back out over the district rooftops, cast his gaze down to the streets, where a Native was going about his business, walking hand in hand with his son. Desmond glanced back at Riley.

"Everything. Nothing. The Farm. It's where I grew up- pretty much something like a small commune deep in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I lived there with my parents and a handful of other families, never saw much of the outside world until I bailed. There was a lot I didn't understand when I left, and that's really what drove me out. It's not that Mom and Dad tried to hide the world from me, more like...it was like all the things we had to fear didn't feel real. It all felt like cultist horseshit without anything tangible to back it up."

He huffed, rubbing his other shoulder. The stump was starting to ache again beneath the compression dressing. "So that's what it really was, I was tired of the fear, tired of not knowing, tired of feeling like there was something more outside the gates."