This is the liturgy of the underground. To the commuter, the metro is a miracle of interval. Every 180 seconds, a silver serpent slides into the station, doors part with a pneumatic sigh, and humanity shuffles in and out like cells through a capillary. But to the Director, the metro is a nervous system. And it is always, always on the verge of a seizure.

The beast is awake.

“People fall anyway,” the Minister laughs.

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