Life as we know it is built on a very basic cycle.
Wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep.
Small variations, perhaps, but that’s the gist of it.
Simple, easy, routine.
And that routine keeps you moving forward, never worried about things out of your control.
But for some, that cycle isn’t good enough.
Some want more out of life than their daily routine.
They look for an opportunity to break away from the pack, to step out of that cycle.
And then, they start to question its purpose.
Their purpose.
And that’s how revolutions get started.
One by one, people try and step up to challenge the rule of law.
Each attempt comes with it a promise to shock the system.
A following gathers around them, united in their mission to disrupt the cycle.
But every single one of them fails, and every step they take leads them to the same destination.
Arrested, removed from the public eye, sent away to the lowest level to waste away.
Those who remain grieve momentarily for the loss of their great leader, the death of their revolution.
But soon, they move on with their lives, as do the rest of the people.
Despite the best efforts of the revolution, the cycle repeats itself.
How do I know this?
Because time after time, I’m left to document the rise and fall of these revolutions.
Every photograph a chapter in this tragic tale, the only memories that remain of their struggle.
Welcome to the cycle, Grimskull.
In a world focused on getting on with each day, you have chosen a different path.
To turn left when everyone else goes right.
You’ve woken up with a completely different mission.
One of service, one of suffering.
But at its core, a mission that contradicts the current order of things.
And that guarantees you the same story that others have played out.
Another path with the same ending.
You can take all the punishment you want on this path, Grimskull.
It won’t change where you’re headed.
You can grin and bear it if you so choose, but the punishment will be massive all the same.
Arrested for your treachery, brought out of the public eye, sent to the lowest level from whence you came.
And, just as before, your followers will grieve over your fate.
They will mourn the death of their movement, their revolution.
But that will only last so long, Grimskull.
Eventually, they will scatter.
They’ll move on with their lives.
Bending to the will of the cycle.
So too will the rest of Arcadia.
And everyone will forget about you, in the end.
But not me, Grimskull.
I’ll be standing here, developing the snapshots that document your rise and fall.
I’ll be left with the memories of what your glory once was, what could’ve been, and how it all went horribly wrong.
Another tale of treachery comes to a close.
Waiting for the next one to begin.
The cycle repeats itself.