The Furor of a Fugitive

In a region expecting unequivocal loyalty to a band of juggernauts
I chose the righteous path, left my family, and took up arms with a local militia
In a ferocious battle, two of the rebels met their demise while three were critically wounded
I was the only combatant who escaped with a gunshot scraped against my neck

Within hours, my face is plastered all over decrepit buildings in town
FUGITIVE Wanted DISABLED or DEAD

Concealed in an old warehouse with frigid air seeping in through broken windows
I thought was this act of rebellion worth it?
Give in to the corrupt czar and work for a pittance of pay or fight to the death and inspire people living on scraps of food

I chose the latter as a marksman aimed a rifle at my head
I wished for freedom as my son sliced the neck of the marksman