# Style: Film Noir

The rain in this city doesn't wash anything away; it just brings the filth to the surface. I sat in my office, listening to the water lap against the brickwork of the alley, smoking a cigarette that tasted like wet cardboard.

The flood had hit the East Side hard. The tenements were gone, swallowed by the river in a single, greedy gulp. But the hills—the places where the money lived—they were still dry.

I had a client, a woman named Elena. She had lost everything in the surge, except for a gold watch and a desperate need to find her brother. She came to me because I was the only man in the city who didn't care who paid him, as long as they paid.

"They told us the rescue boats were coming," she whispered, her voice trembling. "They told us to wait on the roofs. They said the government was organizing a systematic evacuation."

I knew the "system." I'd seen the manifests. The rescue boats weren't for the people; they were for the assets. The boats were picking up the CEOs, the senators, and the heirs to the shipping empires. The "evacuation" was just a way to keep the poor quiet while the rich packed their bags.

I took Elena to the waterfront. We watched from the shadows as a sleek, white motorboat pulled up to a floating balcony of a penthouse. A man in a tuxedo stepped on, carrying two leather suitcases. He didn't even look back at the screaming crowds on the nearby rooftops.

"Look," Elena whispered, pointing to a group of people clinging to a chimney a few yards away. "My brother is there! Please, tell them to stop! Tell them to save him!"

I looked at the boat. Then I looked at the people. I've seen a lot of things in this city, but the look of absolute, betrayed trust on those people's faces was a new kind of horror.

The boat accelerated, leaving a wake of white foam that looked like a shroud. The people on the chimney didn't scream anymore. They just watched the boat disappear into the grey mist.

I turned to Elena. I told her that her brother was gone. I lied, of course—he might have survived for another hour or two—but in this city, a quick lie is more merciful than a slow truth.

I took her gold watch as payment. As I walked back to my office through the rising water, I felt the weight of the watch in my pocket. It was a beautiful piece of machinery, precise and cold. Just like the city. Just like the flood.

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