Sheath and Knife 2

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away—so distant it felt almost unreal—people lived freely and joyfully in the golden haze of the seventies. Life pulsed to the rhythm of disco and foreign rock. The girls were stunning: they wore short skirts, and their boots were made for walking (as Nancy Sinatra would’ve proudly declared). Music poured from every café and car stereo, and nights sparkled with dancing, champagne, imported records, and the voices of distant radio stations.

But then, a shadow crept in.

A new totalitarian regime took hold—cold, grey, and merciless. It outlawed music, dancing, glitter, color, freedom, and joy. The city fell silent. The people’s hearts grew heavy.

Yet among them, hope flickered.

Some dared to dream of a savior—a Pied Piper who would drive the darkness out, as he once drove rats from Hamelin. They found him not in legend, but behind a radio mic: a smooth-talking local host, beloved by the people, who promised to turn their city into its own country. All he asked for was a small favor.

And so, the deal was struck.

The city was granted autonomy. The lights returned. The music played again. Freedom danced in the streets once more.

But no one asked what price the Pied Piper would demand.

He played his enchanted melody.

And as the sound drifted through the night, the souls of young girls began to follow.