The city didn't sleep; it merely shifted its gaze from one set of troubles to another, like a tired old boxer waiting for the bell to ring again. Max found himself standing at the edge of a different rooftop, a vantage point from which he could see the tendrils of corruption still writhing through the city streets below. The victory over Marconi and Kovacs had been significant, but it felt like a drop in a sea of filth.
He took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face, merging with the morning fog. The cold concrete beneath his feet and the steel rail he leaned against were the only constants in a city that seemed hell-bent on tearing itself apart. Somewhere below, the machinery of justice was slowly grinding forward, thanks to the evidence they had delivered. But Max knew better than to trust in a system that had failed so many times before.
Vivian's voice crackled through the small earpiece hidden beneath his collar. "Max, you there?"
