The Cold Iron District
Once a slum ruled by the Shadow Society, thick with slaves and every other manner of rot, it had transformed into something else entirely.
A refuge.
A second chance for those dealt a bad hand by birth or circumstance.
The streets were barricaded now. At every checkpoint, former slaves collected tolls from wealthy visitors who came to sample the district's infamous nightlife.
Old slave houses and auction halls had been converted into inns, brothels, and entertainment dens of every stripe. But unlike before, the workers inside weren't bound by chains or fear.
They worked for wages, not whips. And the profits? Those stayed in the district.
A mutual cooperative.
No wealthy bosses. No masters lurking in the shadows.
Just them.
BANG!
THUD!
"Hey! What's with the attitude?"
A wealthy merchant went flying across the alley, his expensive suit soaking through where he'd hit the cobblestones. He scrambled upright, rain plastering his hair to his forehead.
