The watchman opens his mouth to speak.

Then — the siren.

Loud. Sharp. From inside the walls. Not for me. For them.

The two watchmen turn. Weapons up. They forget I exist.

"What is it?" one shouts.

"East side! The mechanism factory! Something's wrong!"

The first one looks at me. Points.

"You. Stay here. We'll talk later."

They run. Both of them. Toward the noise.

The gate stays open.

I stand there. Alone. Hungry. Watching.

Then — the ground shakes. A boom. Not thunder. Explosion. From inside the walls. Smoke rises. Black. Thick. Chemical.

"Not my problem," I mutter.

I step through the gate.

Inside — chaos.

The streets are narrow. Cobblestone. Gas lamps flicker. Steam pipes run along the walls. People run past me. Some toward the fire. Some away. Nobody looks at me.

Ahead — the building. Massive. Iron and glass. Half of it is gone. Flames. Smoke. Steam hissing from broken pipes. Gears scattered on the ground. Something inside is still turning. Still working. Even while it burns.

A factory? A mine? A mechanism? I don't know.

A man screams somewhere inside.

"Help! Someone help!"

I don't stop.

I'm not here to help.

I'm here to eat.

And somewhere — past the smoke and the panic — I smell food. Bread. Meat. Something warm.

I follow it.