The city of the Ironwrought Syndicate sprawled before her, a jagged landscape of twisting metal and thick smoke. As Su Jing navigated the bustling streets, the rhythmic hum of machinery pulsed like a heartbeat, saturating the air with promise and despair. Towers of scrap and steel towered above her, casting long, dark shadows over the alleys where the sun rarely pierced through.
Grease-streaked workers shuffled past, their faces drawn and weary, each carrying the weight of exhaustion as they headed toward their hostels. They were thin, almost ghost-like, as if the air around them had leached away their strength. A potent scent of oil, rust, and something more acrid hung over the city, a reminder of the lives sacrificed at the altar of industry.
In stark contrast, the heart of the city throbbed with lavishness. Here, the elite feasted in opulent halls, their laughter echoing through the streets while the poor toiled endlessly beyond their gilded walls.
