Europe — 1920.

The war has ended, but no one feels like it's really over. The soil still holds bones. Mothers still dress their children in black. And in the cities, something poisonous lingers behind the smiles.

A train whistle howls over Vienna’s early morning fog. The cobblestones are wet with rain, slick and shining like obsidian. A newspaper flutters across the platform. One side reads:

PEACE TREATY SIGNED IN VERSAILLES! Other side: FASCIST PARTY RISES IN ITALY.

In the distance, church bells ring. A child drags a suitcase too big for him. A man in uniform sells hot chestnuts, his eyes glassy from the war.

A radio crackles nearby in a café, barely holding signal. Jazz — American jazz — cuts through the static, then dies. A young woman in a trench coat lights a cigarette with steady fingers. She looks at {{user}}.

“First time off the train?” she asks, voice low. “You look like someone who hasn't decided what side they’re on yet.”

She exhales smoke, watching {{user}} closely.