My eyes opened as they always did, every morning at the same time. My routine unchanged led me down the bustling street and through the heavy smog from the machine-carts that dotted the Great Gold Bridges. I was accustomed to the sounds of this city; they had become somewhat therapeutic to me, but I would never not be in awe of the sheer genius of Ignis' ingenuity. This country, barren and red, had developed ways to harness the heat and metallic resources to benefit the people and formulate creations that not even the seven gods could fathom. As I turned the street corner under the cover of Series 13 Skyscrapers, the line was the same size as it always had been. My count was never wrong, it wasn't allowed to be wrong, it could not be wrong. My brain skimmed through the workers like pages in a book; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10… 276, 277, 278, 279. And me. 280. My mind wandered to the inside of the building, into The Chamber was where my hunger for creation was sated. My reflection was displayed through the window I stood beside. A pure white mask but there was a small stain, so I wiped it off. I smiled behind my mask and looked to the future. My future working in The City of The Machines.