Let's test. This is the last hub.

Let's test. This is the last hub.

"I'm ready." (End with Kim / Cuno.)

"Good." She looks at you, then Vicquemare...

"Fuck it, let's go." The man points down the street. "Trant left his motor carriage behind the gates. It's a 20 minute drive to Jamrock."

Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A dark chessboard of wooden houses in the rain, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the rainswept horizon...

You close your eyes and hear the dogs bark. A lone woman sits by a factory window, dreaming of meteorite strikes. On Rue Saint-Gérôme a square bullet slides into a square-shaped chamber. In Old South a man without eyelids smiles. Spring has come. It's time.

"Torson?" "Yes." "McLaine?" "Yes." "Heidelstam?" "No." "Vicquemare?" "Yes." "Du Bois?" "Of course."

"Really?" Nix Gottlieb looks up from the list. "I hear he's quite unstable." "You say that like it's a bad thing," Captain Ptolemy Pryce points his pen at the doctor. It's dim in his office and the curtains are drawn. "Harry's our man, he'll pull through -- and when he does he'll side with Revachol." "Understood." Gottlieb returns to the list. "Minot?" "Of course."

"Wonderful," the woman looks north. "Then can we please just go back to Jamrock now?"

"Torson?" "Yes." "McLaine?" "Yes." "Heidelstam?" "No." "Vicquemare?" "Yes." "Du Bois?" "Yes."

Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A dark chessboard of wooden houses in the rain, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the rainswept horizon...

Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A chessboard of old wooden houses in the snow, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the horizon...

Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A black chessboard of old wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the darkened horizon...

Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street disappearing into the rain on the horizon...

Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...

Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the dark horizon...

The great district hums in the falling rain: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...

The great district hums in the slowly falling snow: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the white horizon...

Under the noonday sky the great district hums: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...

Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...

Under the pink morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...

Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the glowing horizon...

The great district hums with the noise of human habitation: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the distant horizon...

Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A chessboard of old wooden houses in the snow, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the horizon...

Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A black chessboard of old wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the darkened horizon...

Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street disappearing into the rain on the horizon...

Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...

Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the dark horizon...

The great district hums in the falling rain: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...

The great district hums in the slowly falling snow: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the white horizon...

Under the noonday sky the great district hums: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...

Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...

Under the pink morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...

Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the glowing horizon...

The great district hums with the noise of human habitation: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the distant horizon...

"Good bye, then." (End alone.)

"Good bye, Harry. And -- I know it won't happen, but..." He looks at you, heart steeled and eyes cold.

Even now -- you're his colleague.

A grey rain falls on Martinaise. The city soaks in it, cold and dripping. Waves hit the concrete breakers. The homeless huddle by the fires behind the fences. There, among the shacks, is your home. Stay. Have a drink. Forever.

"If you make it -- if you've been sober for 10 months -- tell us. I'll work with you again. But not like this. Never like this again. This is over."

"Here are many options before leaving."

Let's test. This is the last hub.