Alphesia breathed poison. It devoured the geomantic potential of the land and refined it producing numerous wonders of science. Grit was the by-product of the refining process, a deadly ash that filled the passageways of the city and the lungs of it citizens. The doctors called the affliction from grit inhalation the Wracks, a dry cough accompanied by abdominal muscle spasms. Doubt had been coughing a lot lately.
Doubt was deposited at the top of the cogstair near Sal’s warehouse and he hurried to it. He checked his chronometer. He was an hour late. He pushed the button to activate the warehouse’s Gritlock entry system and waited for the heavy door to open. Stepping into the small enclosure Doubt shed his heavy protective gear; tattered green parka, heavy gloves, boots, and filter mask and emerged a man of medium height and athletic build with a clean shaved head and sharp jaw line. He would have had an attractive face if it weren’t for the fact that his nose was crooked, having been broken during his time as a Lineman by a yet-to-be-classified organism.
After a moment the air began cycling and powerful vacuum pumps began siphoning away excess grit. When the room was clean, as it would get the inner door opened and Doubt stood facing Sal’s steel and rubber carapace.