From afar, Cape Glory is a New England city of prosperity. Of safety. Modern skyscrapers are silhouetted in the sky, incredible constructs of black steel and glass, a busy harbor with blinking lights and slow moving ships, steam rising upwards from the still running manufactories. The trains run on time, the police protect the citizens, the money flows.
Cape Glory is a well-oiled machine.
But gaze closer and there, haunting the peripheral vision like a spectre, you will see the darkness that seethes underneath. The cracks at the base of the tenements. The missing person fliers littered on the lamp posts, plastered across the crumbling brick walls, blending into the background as if the lost and forgotten faces were just another natural, casually overlooked part of the scenery. The homeless huddled in dark corners, fear reflected in their eyes. The Machine does not care — not for the poverty, not for the anger that bubbles under the aesthetics, not for the constant dread. The Machine of Cape Glory runs perfectly, unwaveringly, never stopping... no matter how many bodies get caught in its cogs.
The cameras are on every corner and The Man is omnipresent. There are no promotions, no demotions, and no social mobility. Just swathes of soulless men and women, automations pushing paper from one corner of the office to the other, working overtime for some faceless corporation. There is no hope, no joy, not even a middle class — just the overwhelmingly rich and everyone else. Everyone has a job in The Machine, but there's no delight in it. Tension pervades, lurking beneath the Stepford façade, waiting to explode out in the clubs and bars, the drinking, sex, and violence. Work hard, play harder. This is their one release.
For each creature that desires the city to be a sterile, efficient machine, however, there is an opposing darkness that longs to destroy it. Corruption seeps through the pores of the Machine. Fissures spread from the edges. Organized crime families are engaged in perpetual wars for control. Prostitutes are found beaten to death, mutilated beyond comprehension. Gangs of impoverished masses prowl the streets after-hours, full of angry men and women who are fortunate if they live past their 20s. And even past the surface horror, something else. Something they all know is there... but which no one dares mention.
It's said that every city has a soul. Cape Glory has only a hole.