Detroit Dead City
space of lush greenery
Between two buildings somewhere in the slums, anywhere, is a gated alley bound with chains. It spills over with lush, beautiful greenery, not entirely out of character for the city but certainly out of character for the street. A shack sits at the front entrance, the seals of the auspices and the tribes of the moon painted in its surface, spattered over with goat blood. The seals of the Pure sit below them, a black ink slash run through them and the scattered bones of a dog or something dangling like wind chimes over the awnings. A sign by the space of lush greenery says “knock three times, then wait.” Hours are posted in white paint on the corrugated steel door.
This road leads to Shadow, an open gateway to the other side. Walking down this path pushes one through thorny hedges into the metaphorical city, the idea of Detroit. On the other side, machine spirits and death spirits wait like day laborers to guide those who enter either into traps or to their heart’s desire, all for a price not paid in cash. Why the door is here is a mystery, only that it is, and that no one can close it. For now, Mitch Scruble keeps it under lock and key. He might let one through or even sell a key, if you know the going rate.