Old Dunling’s twilight was far from beautiful. A gloomy dome of endless steam obscured the sky, smothering the sun’s last rays until only a faint crimson haze remained, like a rain of fire falling from the heavens.
Zeppelins glided through the clouds like leviathans, their shadows mythical and imposing from the ground.
Burton sat comfortably in the driver’s seat, the suspects vanishing from view since he diverted the tram’s route.
“Detective, we could work together.”
Ignoring Eve’s state behind him, Burton spoke into the wind.
“We both want those men. Capture them, and we get our clues. We can sort out the rest later—what do you say?”
Eve hesitated, then lowered her gun amid the jolts. Despite the short acquaintance, Burton had amazed her—so composed, as if everything unfolded according to his design.
“Does that mean you agree?”
Burton’s gaze was enigmatic, as if plotting something beneath those gray-blue eyes.
“Burton Holmes.”
A name: the first step to trust.
Eve tentatively extended her hand, but Burton withdrew his.
“Eve Vossall. I know your name.”
“How—?”
Eve tensed, regretting the alliance.
“I’m a detective. It’s simple.” His eyes scanned her.
“Brand-new uniform, immaculate—fresh from the academy. Your colleagues are mostly drunks; you stand out.
“Motivated, passionate, hates injustice with a passion—classic graduate, starry-eyed. You love this job, desperate for glory.”
Burton sighed, shaking his head.
“Another kid misled by pretty headlines. This isn’t a world where crooks surrender when you shout ‘hands up.’ Cowards run; bold ones shoot first.”
His words were harsh but precise, exposing her like an open book—embarrassing, yet accurate.
“Noble-born, too. Your necklace gives it away.”
He pointed to the silver chain around her neck, a ruby the size of a fingernail peeking from her collar, dislodged by the crash.
“Not a gem ordinary nobles can afford… New recruit lists in the police force mark noble cadets for protection—check your bulletin board. Easy to find.”
Burton smiled, mysterious and formidable in Eve’s eyes.
“How do you know about the police—?”
Su Yalan Hall wasn’t accessible to just anyone.
“My poor nephew died this morning. I filed a report—allowed, right?” He smiled.
Whether Su Yalan Hall or City Hall, Burton feared no institution with the right pretext.
“Only a few nobles on the list, one female. I assume that’s you… Eve Vossall.”
She was speechless, fear mixing with awe. Burton Holmes—self-proclaimed second-rate detective, master of deception. No superhuman intellect; just sharp observation. He wouldn’t mention her police ID falling out during the crash, or Boro’s spies in Su Yalan Hall reporting every hire.
Truth wrapped in mystery—that was Burton’s craft. Like a math equation: flawless logic, unassailable conclusion, no matter how absurd.
“Now do you believe I’m a detective?”
His signature smile, confident as ever.
“Where are we going?”
Eve remained cautious, though temporarily allied.
“To cut them off. They’re heading for the Lower City. Many routes, but only one major gateway.”
Old Dunling isolated the Lower City with walls and buildings, leaving few wide passages for control.
Tunnels connected districts, but horsemen needed the gateway for speed—Su Yalan cavalry already hot on their heels, gunfire echoing.
“How can you be sure we’ll catch them?”
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Burton pointed to the route map in the cab.
“Read the news… the Lower City is being integrated into the Iron Serpent network.”
Reading daily bulletins and City Hall notices was a habit—born from a dream of a movie where Earth was destroyed for ignoring galactic bylaws, a darkly humorous tale he’d never forget.
Months ago, Old Dunling attempted extending Iron Serpent tracks into the Lower City, a prelude to crackdowns. Failed—the gangsters were too united, turning the tracks into smuggling routes, boosting the black market. Boro had laughed himself hoarse.
“Failed, but the tracks still connect Outer and Lower City—no one dares use them.”
Overlaying the map in his mind with the cab’s diagram, Burton knew he could intercept them just outside the Lower City.
The riders raced on, Su Yalan cavalry close behind, whistles shrill as doomsday bells.
So close to the Lower City, where even Su Yalan hesitated. Dusk had fallen, only a crimson glow lingering on the horizon.
The gap between day and night, cold wind carrying the distant whistle of steam engines.
Almost there—then the street trembled, an iron serpent bursting through the mist.
“Got you at last!”
Burton stood in the cab, leveled his Winchester, and fired mercilessly. Cavalry behind him mistook him for an enemy, bullet holes piercing the carriage.
So close—then the Iron Serpent accelerated behind them, momentum carrying it past the riders.
Gunfire, explosions, chaos—warm blood, deafening screams, the world tilting.
The tram derailed.
Gangs had sabotaged Lower City tracks after the failed expansion, leaving the route intact but broken at the threshold.
The Iron Serpent careened off the rails, crushing enemies beneath it, until it lay in a mangled heap. Blood streaked the ground, survivors whimpering in pain.
Eve’s head pounded, every bone aching. Thrown from the tram, tears blurred her vision as she staggered to her feet, seeing Burton’s silhouette against the fiery clouds.
He stood near the wreckage, shotgun in one hand, cane in the other, foot pressing into a dying man’s chest.
“Looks like you’re the last, friend.”
The shotgun aimed downward, muzzle steady.
“Never talk.”
The man spoke calmly, resigned to death.
“Oh?”
Burton smiled, expert at breaking resolve—until the man’s head exploded in a spray of blood, skull fragments splattering his boots.
Smile fading, he looked up to see a wounded figure under crumbling buildings, smoking pistol in hand, disappearing into the Lower City shadows.
The cleaner, the last alive, had kept his promise to eliminate loose ends.
Burton’s anger flared, but he froze as footsteps surrounded him—gangsters emerged from alleyways, guns and blades glinting, a sea of hostility.
Turning, he saw the Outer City a hundred meters away, cavalry lined up in perfect formation, guns raised not at him, but at the Lower City scum. A cold iron curtain separating order from chaos, their gaze indifferent.
He’d crossed into the Lower City, the derailed tram carrying them over the invisible boundary.
More gangsters poured out, numbers overwhelming.
No escape—retreat meant arrest by Su Yalan, advance meant death by blade. Then a gunshot cracked.
Eve stood nearby, pistol shaking, a gangster crumpled at her feet.
“He—he started grabbing at me!” Eve stammered, her voice trembling.
The situation was awkward, and before Burton could speak, a dense crowd closed in.
