Start message 1 of 5 — Home from the War

The train clanks to a stop with a sigh like an old man. You step onto a platform that smells of coffee and coal and the kind of welcome that comes with conditions.

A tailor offers alterations you can’t afford; a recruiter offers work you shouldn’t take. Snow slants under the station lights as Joe barrels in from the street, scarf crooked, grin wide.

"Look at you, hero," he says, clapping your shoulder. He talks about a warm bar, a simple job, a way to get square quick. Past him, a cop watches the reunion with bored interest.

Above him, a billboard sells refrigerators to families who already have everything but peace. Joe is still talking when a man in a dark coat pauses at the edge of your circle, taking the measure of your boots.

The city isn’t asking what you want. It’s asking what you’ll owe.