The air in District Seven is always thick with rust. Metal particles are like tiny blades, etching gray marks into the lungs. Faint blue light seeps through cracks in the ventilation ducts, and the pipes rearrange themselves every hour, twisting the way to survival into a dead end. Here, a cold can claim three lives, the corporate consortium's serpent emblem cuts deeper than any rule, and the black patterns on the bodies of the gifted conceal secrets heavier than death. The rules of the basement? Staying alive is the greatest act of defiance.
