The air in Sector 4 tasted like old copper and boiled water. It was a thick, humid haze that clung to the back of the throat and made every breath feel heavy.
Vane hit the ground with a heavy rolling thud. He came up in a crouch while his boots slid on the slick, moss-covered cobblestones of the lower industrial district. He did not move immediately. He stayed low, the Star-Metal spear still strapped to his back, and listened to the rhythm of the city.
It was a nightmare of verticality. Above him, massive brass gears the size of cathedral windows ground against each other with a sound like dying whales. Towers of rusted iron twisted upward into the smog, connected by swaying bridges and dripping pipes that leaked oily condensation. Steam vented from the ground in unpredictable, scalding bursts, obscuring the path every few seconds.
It was loud. It was dirty. It was dangerous. Vane took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the metallic smog.
'Home sweet home,' he thought.
