A ragged, unpatched crevice runs up along the security station’s steel wall, the scar of a previous assault. Gaule Protectorate guards stand outside the entrance, rifles clutched in their gloved hands.

A silent menace radiates from the armed guards. They look tense, and the contempt on their faces implies that they’re ready to indulge in indiscriminate violence the first chance they get. People shuffle past avoiding eye contact and sometimes even cursing, but never loud enough for the guards to make out what they’ve said.