Fuscha EstateThe metallic whir of the huge air ducts filled the night with a bristling foreboding, like nightmarish noises from a prehistoric world. Except this was now, the modern age. Polluted air purified and piped through the endless, featureless spires of Fuscha Estate. A million souls encased in a vast concrete amphitheatre, tranquilized on an endless diet of drugs and alcohol, supplied free of charge by a government that neither knew nor cared about them, their lives, aspirations and fears. So long as they stayed out of trouble, nobody gave them a second's thought. As the wind snapped at his coat tails, Bremen took it in and shuddered.
He crossed the barren square to Tower One and was greeted by the soft pulse of soothing musak, droning synthesized strings created to dull minds and
