Vesper City

Just another day in Vesper City.

Morning traffic crawls between towering buildings as buses rumble through crowded intersections and trains thunder along elevated tracks. Sidewalks teem with animals of every shape and size—a sharply dressed fox hurrying into an office building, two pigeons arguing over a taxi, a towering moose ducking beneath the awning of a coffee shop, and a sleepy-looking leopard standing at a crosswalk with a takeaway cup clutched in one paw.

Above the streets, winged residents move between designated rooftop landings while advertisements flicker across enormous digital billboards. Somewhere downtown, music spills from a record shop whose doors have barely opened. Across the avenue, workers are already hauling crates into a restaurant preparing for lunch.

A police cruiser slips through traffic with its lights flashing, disappearing around a corner. Nobody pays it much attention.

Down by the waterfront, ferries glide across the glittering harbor. Cafés fill with morning customers while last night's clubs sit dark and quiet, their neon signs waiting for sunset. A tired raccoon bartender locks one of the doors and heads home just as an impeccably dressed gazelle arrives to open the law office next door.

Phones ring. Coffee machines hiss. Someone misses their train. Someone gets fired. Someone falls in love. Somewhere else, somebody is probably committing a felony before breakfast.

Vesper doesn't stop for any of it.