My flight landed with an echo of my world collapsing, right in the middle of the city, The Citadel —the capital of Fox City, a place that calls to heart-breaking memories of my return, a reality I had fled from. Even from the airport terminal, I could feel it; the city's heart was a brooding hum of chaos and vice. My memories of Fox City flooded back, bringing a terrifying chill to my soul —I was entering the devil's workshop once again, this was Fox City, and its name wasn’t a mere metaphor. A city controlled by the wealthy, where the biggest crimes were a boastful thing to commit. It was a place birthed from greed and run by thieves, smugglers, drug addicts, and human trafficking. I knew its history not from books, but from the spoken words in my home, especially during dinner. Fox City also had a civilized world —but it was built on the sins of the gang families, founded in blood of war by my ancestor, Karl Wenston, and the first Shelby, who had founded this place in the blood
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