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It's March 16, 1988 in Rangoon, the capital of Burma. The young woman cycles down a narrow back alley, her wheels splashing through puddles left by a recent monsoon.

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a thousand angry

voices chanting in unison rises above the corrugated iron rooftops and hangs in the air like an

electric charge. The young woman's heart rate quickens as she follows the rumbling noise.

She turns a corner onto a tree-lined road where thousands of demonstrators are marching with signs bearing pro-democracy messages.

The crowd is mostly students, like her, young people, angered by the corruption and violence of Burma's socialist dictatorship.

The young woman abandons her bicycle and joins the demonstration, lending her voice to the spirited

cries for democracy and freedom.

She follows the flow of protesters onto a bridge over a lake where a line of military

vehicles forms a menacing blockade.

As armed soldiers square up to the front line of protesters, there's a sudden screech

of tires. The young woman spins around to see a line of protesters, there's a sudden screech of tires. The young woman

spins around to see a fleet of police fans have appeared behind the demonstrators, trapping

them on the bridge. Officers in riot gear start pushing and shoving the students who suddenly

have nowhere to run. Then a single gunshot rings out, and a protester crumples to the ground, dead.

Chaos ensues as the demonstrators panic and try to escape the bridge. But within seconds,

bullets fly through the air as the officers start firing indiscriminately into the crowd. A dark

tide of blood courses over the concrete of the bridge. The young woman

...