I feel its presence even if I cannot see it. The loathing emanating from the other side of the city, districts away. Entering the elevator of Building 76 the sensation grows as I catch a glimpse through the neighboring towers. The machine-fog and the sun's glare cannot shelter me from the penetrating sight of it. Immobile, yet shifting. Sightless, yet all-seeing.

The Wall.

Constructed by thousands of men, women, and children laboring endlessly through no will of their own. Parts of the city were razed to finish the immense structure but even these materials were not enough. The stone was spent and the earth was drained. Metal cannibalized from every district and consumed by it. The Wall sought to be higher. And it became so. As the speeding elevator crests floor 279 tears well into my tired eyes. I see it every day but it affronts me all the same. The bones entwined with the flesh, still moving. Swaying to some ungodly rhythm I wish to never hear. But I do, and it calls my name.