The billboard stood crooked at the side of the cracked road, one light flickering weakly beneath its rusted frame.
WELCOME TO CLOVER DOWN—the words were faded, half-peeled by rain and years of neglect. Underneath it, someone had sprayed a line of red paint that read: *"Where dreams come to rot."*
Clover Down was not much of a town.
The streets were narrow and unpaved, the air thick with the stench of refuse and exhaust. Buildings leaned tiredly against one another, walls stained with soot and mold. The windows were fogged or shattered; old neon signs buzzed faintly, advertising stores that had long been abandoned.
The gutters overflowed with black water that never seemed to drain. Along the sidewalks, tents of dull tarpaulin huddled together like colorless fungi sprouting from despair. Inside them, gaunt figures stirred—men and women whose eyes were clouded and lifeless, their arms trembling as they injected themselves with clear fluid from cheap vials.
A low murmur filled the streets: incoherent whispers, muffled sobs, the clatter of empty bottles. They looked like statues left too long in the rain—faces hollowed, limbs slack, swaying gently in a daze.
Clover Down was a town forgotten by progress, gnawed by its own rot.
At the far end of the main road stood a square of cracked stone—the mayor's district, its grand building rising like a mockery amidst ruin. Polished glass walls reflected the crowd below, where hundreds had gathered, chanting and waving banners.
"STOP EFFAXAINE ABUSE!" one sign read.
Another bore the image of a weeping woman: "LIVES MATTER!"
Others screamed, "DOWN WITH GUSTAVO REGIME!" and "ENOUGH IS ENOUGH—OUR VOICES MATTER!"
Uniformed officers formed a barrier in front of the mayor's gates, their black vests reading ASHGROVE PD. Reinforcements from the county, brought in to keep order. Their faces were cold, unmoved by the desperation before them.
The chants grew louder, the air heavy with anger. Yet behind the thick glass of the mayor's office, the world felt detached, almost luxurious.
---
The mayor's office shimmered with gold trim and marble shine. Velvet curtains framed tall windows, and a chandelier spilled light over furniture carved from imported wood. The scent of roasted meat hung thick in the air.
Behind an enormous desk sat a chubby, middle-aged man, his belly pressing against the buttons of his white shirt. His name was Mayor Gustavo Lendren—the man whose signature had drained the last pulse of wealth from Clover Down.
He chewed noisily on a turkey leg, grease shining on his fingers. Plates of sausages, roasted lamb, and glazed fruits cluttered the table before him. Wine dripped from the corner of his mouth as he swallowed, sighing with satisfaction. Two tall bodyguards stood motionless by the door, arms folded across their chests.
From outside, faint shouts seeped in—the protestors. Gustavo smirked, licking his thumb.
Owen's voice echoed softly in the distance of memory.
*"That man destroyed our town. His greed turned our lives to dust. Clover Down used to breathe once… before the Effaxaine deals, before the bribes. He fed his wealth while we fed on crumbs."*
---
Cameron District—the place where Owen, his mother Sofia, and his sister Kate once lived—sat on the opposite end of the county. It was the heart of the common folk, a stretch of cramped slum homes pressed together like weary neighbors sharing the same pain.
The houses were made of brick and tin, some leaning, others cracked open by age. Narrow alleys snaked between them, littered with wires and laundry lines drooping under damp clothes. Fences barely waist-high divided one home from the next. Smoke from cheap coal fires curled upward, painting the dusk in dull gray.
Owen's narration continued, quieter, tinged with warmth.
*"That's where we lived. In Cameron. Where the roofs leaked and the walls were thin, but laughter still found a way through. My mother made it feel like the world wasn't so cruel."*
---
It was evening when Sofia stepped out from their small home.
The sunset stained her figure in orange and gold—her beauty impossible to hide, even against the backdrop of poverty. She wore a delicate dress, her hair brushed carefully, the scent of faded perfume lingering faintly in the air.
Outside, a luxurious black car waited—far too fine for a place like Cameron. The driver stood stiffly beside it, eyes forward, avoiding the curious stares from neighbors.
Through the small window of their home, little Owen and Kate waved eagerly.
"Bye, Mom!" Kate chirped, pressing her small palms to the glass.
Sofia smiled and waved back, though her eyes carried something unspoken—a hint of sadness, of weariness. Then she turned and boarded the car.
The engine roared, tires crunching over gravel, and the car sped off into the darkening street.
*"Back then,"* Owen's voice returned, *"I never asked what kind of job she did. She said it was just night work—that it paid well. I believed her. I wanted to."*
---
Back at the mayor's building, the protests had swelled louder. The people's cries reached the glass walls, though none of it touched the comfort inside.
Mayor Gustavo finished gnawing on the last bit of turkey, wiped his greasy mouth, and stood.
He waddled toward the window, chuckling as he glanced down at the raging crowd. Then, with absurd arrogance, he loosened his belt and began to wiggle mockingly, his pale belly jiggling under the chandelier light.
The protestors couldn't see what he was doing—their attention fixed on the barricades. But Gustavo found his own amusement, laughing loudly, pulling his trousers back up and raising a middle finger toward the glass before slumping back into his chair.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter," he grumbled, tearing another piece of meat from a bone.
The door opened, revealing a young secretary—slender, with a delicate face framed by loose blonde hair. Her expression was dull, her beauty dimmed by exhaustion. She wore a neat skirt and jacket that hung too loosely on her thin frame.
"Sir," she said softly, "the escorts you requested have arrived."
Gustavo's greasy lips curled into a grin. His eyes gleamed—small and beady, like a wolf that had found its prey.
"Perfect," he muttered, his voice low and animalistic. He nodded eagerly, his double chin wobbling with the motion.
Owen's narration returned—the tone shifting, heavy and slow.
*"That night, the mayor entertained himself again. He called it 'business.' To him, women were just another form of currency—something to be bought, used, and discarded. And among those brought to him that evening… was my mother."*
---
The escorts were lined up in a lavish room bathed in rose light. Soft music played from unseen speakers. Velvet couches filled the sides, occupied by wealthy men with eyes as cold as glass. Their suits shimmered, their laughter thick with cruelty.
The women stood before them—dressed in alluring fabrics, each painted with charm and grace. Among them, Sofia shone without trying. Her beauty was natural, her expression calm yet distant, as if her soul were somewhere far from that place.
The men joked, making bids as though it were an auction. Mayor Gustavo's laughter cut through them all, booming and vulgar.
He raised a stubby hand. "That one," he said, pointing at Sofia. "The one with the sad eyes. She's mine tonight."
The room erupted in teasing jeers, but none challenged his claim. Gustavo always got what he wanted.
---
The room turned quiet later that night. Pink light pulsed faintly from the chandelier, painting the walls in soft dread.
Sofia sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes glistening. The air carried the weight of perfume and fear.
From the doorway, the silhouette of Gustavo appeared—stripped to a vest and shorts, his shadow crawling across the floor like a grotesque beast.
His laugh was thick, ugly, echoing off the walls.
Outside, a clock ticked steadily—indifferent to what would follow.
*"That was the night everything changed,"* Owen whispered in his memory. *"The night my mother crossed paths with that man."*
A single scream pierced the silence—sharp, broken—followed by laughter that chilled the air. Then, quiet.
The light from the chandelier flickered once… and went out.
---
Morning came.
The sunlight spilled coldly through the blinds of the mayor's suite.
Gustavo stood before a mirror, buttoning his shirt, humming softly. The feast of the night had left him satisfied.
A guard entered, helmet tucked under his arm.
"Sir?"
Gustavo didn't look up. "The woman from last night. She didn't make it. Take care of it—same way as the others."
He adjusted his belt and smirked. "No loose ends."
The guard nodded silently and left.
In the dim light of the next room, Sofia lay motionless, her hair fanned across the sheets. Her breathing was gone; her body pale and still. The room smelled of roses and tragedy.
---
Meanwhile, in Cameron, dawn crept over the slums. The sound of children playing, of dogs barking, of doors creaking open—life continued unaware.
At a small house near the alley, little Owen stood at the doorway, his eyes scanning the empty street.
He'd been waiting since sunrise.
Beside him, Kate sat on the step, fiddling with her fingers. "Why hasn't Mom come back yet?" she asked softly.
Owen swallowed, forcing a smile. "Maybe… maybe her work took longer today. You know how she said she gets extra pay for long shifts."
Kate nodded, though worry clouded her small face. "You think she's okay?"
"Yeah," Owen said quickly, though his voice trembled. "She's fine. You'll see—she'll come back tonight."
He reached over, ruffling her hair. "Hey, you remember the car she left in? The one with the shiny black paint?"
Kate blinked. "Uh-huh."
"I remember its serial number," Owen said. "Maybe we can go to the Cameron station tomorrow—ask them to check whose car it is. Maybe it's from her company. They'll tell us where she works."
Kate's eyes brightened, her small smile returning. "Really? Then we can visit her!"
"Yeah," Owen said, nodding. "Then we can visit her."
He pulled his sister close, the two of them sitting quietly on the wooden step, watching the sun climb above the ragged rooftops—unaware that the world they knew had already fallen apart.