The banks wrote the rules, then bought the referees. Bank Row forecloses by algorithm. Whale Bay parties on yields nobody downtown will ever see. The Vaults hold more locked wealth than the rest of the city combined — and the city is hungry.

Then somebody spun up the Feather-Ral Reserve: an unbreakable vault that skims 1% of every $FETA that moves — every score, every purchase, every fine — and rains it back on the streets. Nobody knows who built it. Everybody knows what it means: robbing the rich finally pays a dividend.

You wear the green hood now. Out here your name means nothing — your AURA is your name. Earn it.