Children tilt down alleys, chanting bloody nursery rhymes, while withered men shout warnings from tenement windows.
Factory workers crowd sweating into cable cars, hoping their pay will last the week. Aerostats roar above them, bearing the rich to luminous towers.
Under gas lamps and flickering electrics, the Provosts pull a body from a canal, a ceramic blade jammed in its chest. You know the truth: this wasn’t a robbery gone wrong.