Word on the street... Hathian’s veins pulsed with fresh trouble as night bled into morning, the city’s shadows churning out more than rain and desperation. Word slid between alleyways that a brazen daylight shootout stained the bridge—bullets traded between badge and outlaw, one vanishing in a glittering haze while the other bled beneath the skyline, feeding gossip that vengeance still simmers. Elsewhere, whispers swirl of a newcomer mugged for nothing but a hoodie and hope, their cries echoing down butchered streets. And at Gein Burger, the fire’s stench lingers, with rumors that someone was tied and left for smoke and vengeance. Trust, in Hathian, is always the first casualty.
