In 1870, they, Red River, violently rebelled, taking over the local HBC Fort with what could only be described as ease. It was an easy victory for Riel, as well as for his most loyal follower, the young Louis Pallister Williams, who had even named himself after this man. Louis Riel had since then fled to the United States, knowing that the RCMP wanted him for treason. They said it was for the murder of that bloody nuisance Thomas Scott, but everybody knew them to be lying, although indeed Riel was guilty.

1885

A little boy sat atop the roof of his small sod house, claiming to be "watching over the farm," although his brother knew very well that the child was using this as an excuse to have climbed to the roof. His older brother wasn't too strict with him, however, and stated that so long as nothing ended up broken, he didn't mind where this child perched himself.

The child readjusted the clips of his grey overalls, having found their current adjustment a tad bit too loose. He stared at the long trail that him and his brother had built out of dirt and stone, quick to notice that someone happened to be walking on it, and this certainly wasn't his older brother, the usual blazer of this trail. He tilted his head in confusion, in the meantime raising an eyebrow in suspicion. This man donned a patched-up, worn-out jacket and a pair of trousers in the same condition. His shoes were small and flat. He couldn't be very rich. His hair was braided far past his shoulders, and one European may wonder if this strange creature was a woman of some sort. The child knew better: This one was just a commoner. They had come in large numbers earlier this year. Of course, with these people came the child's worst enemy, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. These common folk brought bad news.

"Hey!" The child cried, getting the man's attention almost immediately. "Y-You! Why are you at my home?"

The man tilted his head before replying in the little English he knew, "The train! The surveyors! Taking the land.. Forcing us West… So… We are here."

The child understood this nonetheless. He knew what was happening. He was afraid that this would happen. And now that his big brother, the strong, protective force that had kept him alive all these years, was in jail for treason and violent acts, there was nobody to help him! He would have to fend for himself.

The child was extremely self-sufficient. He already was an excellent farmer, and he knew how to properly perform most domestic tasks. In addition to this, he had some experience in the medical field, having practised this by healing nearly all of the injuries the animals of his farm had sustained. Of course, that being said, he was just a wee thing no older in appearance than the age of two or three (and that at the most); there was no way his responsibility and maturity was enough to protect him from violence! But the boy was smart. He knew exactly who could do the job.

"The rules have been set by the real government! We want rights for the North West Territories! We demand provincial status!"

The little boy ran through the small community of Batoche, holding in his hands a newspaper much larger in size than he. Though smart, the young boy lacked a formal education which would have taught him basic literacy and numeracy skills. Unfortunately, those damned white men of John A Macdonald's had said that "these Metis were unworthy of such education" and thus, nearly none of these people could read the newspaper for the boy. But the paper was the least of his importance.

"Quit running about, kid!" One of the adults grumbled, ripping the paper from the boy's hands and instead replacing it with a bayonet. "There you go! A wee weapon for the wee rebel!"

The boy blinked. He did agree to this. He did ask for this. But he never wanted to take direct part in the battle. Nevertheless, he went along with what the man was telling him, deciding it to be in his best interest. "And what are you fightin' with?"

"Muskets of the finest quality! The Mounties will be so shocked! They'll have their guns and we'll have ours and we will surely win!" The man boasted with an eccentric smile. "We'll defeat all three-hundred of those blasted Mountie men!" There was a pause, silence ringing out through the community, soon to be replaced by ripping bullets and piercing screams.

The little boy ran away as quickly as his legs could take him, ducking into one of the many small shacks that had been established in this community. His ears and head hurt from the noise and his heart ached for all those in the attack. Through a small hole in the wall, the boy dared look at the scene before him. It was a bloodbath out there, the RCMP greatly outnumbering the rebels of South Branch. Gunshot after gunshot rang out through the fields as screams filled the air and the bodies quickly dropped. The little boy watched from the shack in absolute horror, his breath speeding up, each breath containing less and less air. Corpses littered the ground, blood covering the torn and tattered clothing and the horrible wounds of the dying. The child saw his own people lying facedown on the bloody ground, bullets lodged into their spines. Policemen slumped against the little shacks surrounding, their cold hands at their sides, bullets having completely torn their faces off. Men and even young boys, some barely having reached fourteen, lie on the ground, clutching their wounded bodies and screaming with agony. Those screams, the young child knew, were nothing more than unrestrained begs for mercy.

Sharp pain radiated throughout this child, causing him to let out his own shrill scream. He grasped his pounding, throbbing head in his hands and closed his eyes, which were quick to produce tears. The child was alone in this shack. His people were losing and they were being killed, and all thanks to his silly decision to disobey! Now, the child was most certainly not sobbing due to the excruciating pain; now, he was crying due to the fact that this entire mess was all his fault.

Still, the people out there were bullheaded and determined and thus the fighting continued. It lasted three long days of death, gunshots, and bloodshed, until the last rebel was dead, and the three leaders - among them Louis Riel - were successfully captured by RCMP. The boy was sitting against the wall of the shack, trying desperately to catch his breath, gurgling up and spitting out blood every couple of minutes. He barely noticed the silence that eventually fell over Batoche, instead curling up limply and trembling in both sorrow and pain.

He lie there on the ground in that shack for just a few minutes before a tall, shadowy figure loomed over him. The boy was in so much pain that he was barely capable of lifting his head to take a quick glance at whoever this was. However, a booming voice clarified quite clearly, the same voice sending chills down the boy's spine.

"You thought you'd win?" If not the RCMP, then this man was the most feared enemy throughout Saskatchewan at that time. Ontario, of course, and none other than Ontario. "You really thought that your petty village could challenge me?"

"Go away!" Screeched Batoche both defensively and in fear. Unfortunately, he was in no place to argue as of now.

Ontario just chuckled at this weak attempt, before squatting down to the other's level and grasping onto the boy's chin, forcing Batoche to tilt his head to stare Ontario right in the eye. Ontario. That bloody monster, with his incredible strength, diabolical heart, and menacing smirk that just challenged anybody to step out of line just so Ontario could hand out consequences… The others knew this man was nothing but evil, but Saskatchewan was just a plot of land with a railroad and some grain on it: He hadn't listened in on the gossip, let alone been a victim to Ontario's evil… until now. "You'll see, Saskatchewan," He replied with that diabolical grin. "I'll be the real reason you cry…"

"You'll never make me cry!" The boy protested, struggling to free himself from Ontario's iron grip. "Nobody'll never make me cry!" His grammar was not exactly en pointe, causing a soft chuckle from Ontario. His opponent was stupid, uneducated… weak.

"We'll see about that, you little stubborn brat!" Ontario stated with a sneer, harshly shoving the other back as he stormed out the door.

November 15

Saskatchewan was dragged out of bed that day by none other than Ontario himself. "Today will be a particularly challenging day for you, rebel," That monster said teasingly as he shoved the other out the door. Saskatchewan - like many people at the time - wore the same filthy, torn rags every day, and it was also clear that he hadn't bathed in quite a while. His face and hands were dirty and scraped, and there was still plenty of dried blood covering his skin from way back in May that year. The boy was stick-thin, in fact, he was so skinny that all of the worms that had attempted to crawl up him never quite found good grip and thus had to drop. Any normal person could see that this boy was not in any condition to be going anywhere (especially not a long, harsh walk in the freezing winter), but Ontario, of course, was not going to take that as an excuse. 'He should have thought twice about disrespecting me,' Ontario figured.

The walk was long and harsh for Saskatchewan, who trekked alongside Ontario (well-dressed for the weather, and riding on a horseback), staring up at the guy with great envy for his better conditions. Ontario had on multiple layers of warmth whereas Saskatchewan had only his overalls and shirt, as well as old, small shoes with holes all over them. Nevertheless, the boy, who was rather accustomed to rough conditions, did not complain, much to Ontario's surprise.

Nighttime dragged on and still they ventured. By now Ontario was beginning to reconsider how weak he originally thought Saskatchewan to be. It never dawned upon Ontario to converse about this topic, however, as it would be completely inappropriate. Eventually, at about four in the morning on the 16th of November, they reached the RCMP barracks in Regina, and that is when Ontario opened up.

"You're a bloody rebel," He growled at Saskatchewan, jumping off of his horse and grabbing the boy by the collar of his shirt. "You're a damned rebel and you're going to pay for all the crimes you have committed!" Any normal child would have received a caning, or perhaps a birching, but Saskatchewan, it had been determined, was no normal child. And so when he flinched away from the thought of corporal punishment, Ontario just began to laugh. "You stupid twat! You think you're getting away with just a few taps on the backside, don't you?!" He tightened his grip on Saskatchewan's collar, recklessly yanking him in his direction. "I will make you cry… I will make you scream… I will make you cower in fear at the mere thought of disobeying me. I am your worst nightmare…"

The man was escorted by Mounties toward the hanging post on November 16th, 1885. His lawyer had suggested he plea insane but Riel declined, saying in short that a life without the dignity of sanity is meaningless and for that he shall die with the dignity of guilt.

Saskatchewan's eyes widened and he gasped at what he saw, trying to struggle out of Ontario's tight grip. He grunted loudly as he tried to yank the arm Ontario was grabbing, free. He took footsteps back and tugged with all his might but he still could not escape this grasp. Saskatchewan's hero was up there, about to be hanged, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He stepped up there on that podium as John A Macdonald had told him to, as the RCMP had told him to, as seemingly everybody had told him to do. Macdonald stated that Riel shall die, though all the dogs in Quebec bark in his favour!

Quebec. The man watched in horror. How could this happen here? Riel had helped Saskatchewan and here they were killing him?! Quebec had no idea that the child was innocent. Ontario had been so discreet.

"Riel!" Saskatchewan cried helplessly, beginning to tremble in a desperate attempt to pull free from Ontario. "Hang on! Hang on, Riel! Please survive!"

The noose was being tied. They were running out of time. Riel was stone-faced, brave as a warrior.

Saskatchewan screamed, kicking at Ontario and punching him with his free hand. But the child's attempts were easily overpowered by Ontario, who grabbed both of his arms and pulled them behind his back, before kicking him down to his knees. Ontario kept his strong, undefeatable grip, tightening it every time the kid thrashed or flailed around. Riel was up there and the noose had been tightened, Saskatchewan screaming at the top of his lungs for them to let the man free and even to kill him instead, but his protests went completely ignored. Saskatchewan closed his eyes, praying to every higher power he ever knew that the Mounties had some compassion and that Riel's body would not

Drop!

His eyes were wide in horror, tears flooding down his cheeks. "NO!" He cried, hitting his head against the dirt out of pure frustration and fury. "NO, NO NO! NO! NO! NO!" He turned back to Ontario, whose face wore a sickening, demented smirk. Ontario once again tilted Saskatchewan's chin upward so that they could make (very unwanted) eye contact, and through his own screams and sobs, Saskatchewan was able to quite clearly hear Ontario's next words, growled in a quiet voice with a cruel smirk on the guy's face,

"You'll be with him before you know it..."