Watching all of this, the guilt and struggle on Smith's face rapidly faded, his expression growing numb.
He raised his hand and pressed his palm against the cold glass, feeling the chill from the world outside.
"Don't hate me."
Smith's voice was hoarse as he gazed down at the bustling, yet soon-to-be-dead district below.
"This is just how the world works. Big fish eat little fish. That's the rule."
He pulled his hand away and adjusted the collar of his suit, looking at his own impeccably dressed reflection in the glass.
"If you have to blame someone, just blame your own bad luck at birth."
...
Erie City. United Steel Factory.
A massive overhead crane moved slowly across the factory ceiling. A bundle of freshly cooled H-beams hung from its hook.
The blinds in the manager's office were drawn, shutting out the din of the workshop.
The factory manager, Jim Bell, sat behind his desk, his fingers digging into the edge of the table.
