DownTown Vision. Sector 37

Eastsector DownTown is widely considered to be the worst part of DownTown, with the areas along the Perimeter Wall being the worst of the worst. All through the sector there are rumors of entire neighbourhoods vanishing overnight without a trace, only splatters of blood remaining the last accusing witnesses of false promises and lost hopes.
All through the sector there are underground areas completely devoid of human life, but those Operatives that have braved these areas, commonly known as Hellpits, claim that there indeed is some life, but most of them never had the nerve to find out. Those that did, usually don’t talk – they never came back.
Although it is located along the Perimeter Wall, right around the gates to the notorious Cannibal Sector One, Eastsector Area Sector 37 is somewhat special: it is quiet, deadly quiet compared to other Eastsector areas. Where other areas have their share of gang-warfare and the report of CAF weapons echo through the streets after nightfall, no such sounds echo through the streets of Sector 37 – that of course does not mean that there are no screams after dark.
Not overpopulated as much as the other DownTown areas, the few people that brave the streets of this sector are a different bunch; the life close to the area closest to a nightmare come true, Cannibal Sector One, seems to have made them harder, but at the same time also colder. The look in the eyes of the citizens of Sector 37 is flatter, more stoic – expressing a belief in the inevitability of terror and the unshakable conviction that things will always get worse.
When screams erupt in the quiet nightly streets of Sector 37 none of the natives will even bother to raise an eyebrow – the DownTown credo of “if it doesn’t happen to me I don’t care” is nowhere as manifested as in Sector 37. And the citizens of Sector 37 have all reason to react this way.
None other of the DownTown areas that are close to the surface are as plagued by the typical Lower DownTown fog phenomenon as is Sector 37, and nowhere is the sickly-brown, bitter-tasting fog as dense, impenetrable and acrid as in that area. Visibility in the fog is reduced to a few meters, sounds get eerily distored and distances muddled, full of shapes that from distance seem to be not quite human and disappear upon approach, with muffled cries, screams and strange metallic clicking sounds, like the tip of a walking stick upon cold wet concrete, abruptly stopping with a slender, almost haggard, dark figure, wearing a top-hat and carrying a bag staring from across the other side of the street before it vanishes into swirls of the brownish fog . Whenever the fog is in the streets of Sector 37 nobody ventures outside, as long as he can avoid it, for you never know what you find out there . in the fog.
Recently the area has become infamously prominent, with the opening – and only a short time later closing down – of the only whispered-at club Boiler Room. Founded by the renegade Necanthrope and former member of Cloak Division, Hellraiser, the Boiler Room soon became an institution among the upper echelon of SLA Industries’ Corporate Climber and Operative stratum, who were attracted to the apparent subversiveness and danger to club in the lower areas. Most of them never suspected how right their pretentious ambitions truly were.
Nothing is known about the reasons the Boiler Room had to close down, and nothing is known about the fate of its owner, but today the site of the Boiler Room is an eerily quiet, still area, devoid of life, but for the group of winos, who have selected the place as their home. Their faces are gnawed away by some unknown disease, their arms and legs distorted and blurred, where they can be seen through the rips and tears in the dirty tatters that pass as their clothing. They have made camp on the steps of the Boiler Room, somewhat sheltered from the rain, seeminly attracted to the former glory of the place as if wishing that this proximity to glory might indeed spur some of their own lost dreams.
The area is notorious for its apparent lack of SkinTrade activity – but cynical Shivers whisper that is only because several of the most active slaving warehouses are actually located deep in the bowels of that sector. This rumor itself is an enigma to most Operatives investigating the SkinTrade as Sector 37 is so far away from the prime hunting and selling ground of the SkinTrade – the bright neon lanes of DownTown’s Beacon Street. But as investigation into the SkinTrade policies is haphazard at best, it is quite possible that Beacon Street acts as a southern and the warehouses of Sector 37 as a northern distribution centre for the various SkinTrade groups. Nevertheless, no great action has yet been taken to stop the SkinTrade activities and thus the slavers seem to be able to hold their flesh auctions without fear from prosecution.
Currently, besides the SkinTrade groups, two power factions seem to rule the underworld of the Sector: a nameless criminal organization, specializing in small-scale extortion, mugging, assassination and other kinds of violent scams, referred to on the street only as the Man and the Dustriders biker gang seem to have split control of the sector. Not such a long time ago, both groups were locked in a deadly power struggle, but recently both groups seem to have buried their grudges and began co-existing rather peacefully. Whether this is due to successful negotiations between the two groups or a mutual enemy is unknown.

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