It was just another day in Munez District. The faint echo of gunshots cracked through the heavy air, sending crows into flight, their harsh cawing filling the silence. A dark cluster of them lined the sagging cable lines, watching as a mob of their own feasted on the remains of a dead mouse on the sidewalk. Tattooed gang members, rifles slung over their shoulders, strolled through the streets like it was nothing out of the ordinary. For the people of Munez, it wasn’t.

At the old bus terminal, life still moved in and out of the district. Transits came and went, shuttling passengers through the danger. In the midst of the crowd stepping off the latest arrival was a young woman, her expression calm, but alert. Sion Goulding, a journalist for NA News, had returned.

Sion paused at the entrance of the station, taking in a deep breath of Munez’s tainted air before slowly exhaling.

"Smells the same as last time."

She descended the station steps, stepping onto the gritty sidewalk. In her backpack, she carried a handcam for the stories she was here to uncover, and a taser — a precaution that might just be necessary in a place like this.

Sion walked cautiously, her eyes sharp and wary, avoiding the gaze of the gang members that loitered on street corners.

Sion found a bench under the shade of a half-collapsed billboard, overlooking a small, cracked basketball court. She sank down, the rough concrete cool against her skin, and took another deep breath, letting the strange quiet of the moment settle around her. A few kids were shooting hoops, their laughter faint but lively, cutting through the usual tension of the district. For a brief moment, everything felt still.

After a while, Sion reached into her bag and pulled out her handcam, quietly capturing the scene before her—the kids, the graffiti-covered walls, the distant sounds of life carrying on. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for yet, but Munez always had a story to tell.