Crying. He wasn’t allowed to cry. Not when his cousin passed, not when the family dog was shot, not when his favorite childhood toys broke. He could face jail time, hours locked in a blank room with a cold metal chair and a *doctor* with calculated, robotic movements. And he would be subjected to all sorts so gaslighting, manipulation, pressure. Everyone knew this. Many had experienced it.

It never stopped them from crying, they were just more urgent about isolation.

Such a stupid rule. The idea was that, by forbidding tears, they would become tougher and more intimidating as weapons deployed against aggressive groups. It made it much rarer to see someone cry, yes, but the rule was an unspoken weight on everyone’s mind.

And it was just so worthless. So he joined a movement of sorts. And they cried.

They went around crying, on the streets, in official’s faces. They refused to stop. If they were caught, and unable to be ‘fixed,’ they were never seen again. But there was an endless stream of volunteers. It drove up the tourist level more than any natural monument or unusual tradition. People traveled because they wanted to see the crying. They wanted to watch the people wander, sobbing, and when they were arrested.