We see a vast cityscape from above. Skyscrapers. Spotlights. We cannot even tell if there is a bottom to this place. We rush downward, a flurry of people, commerce. It goes on forever. Skytrams ferry customers from restaurants to shops, and they never quite know where they are. Nowhere near the bottom. But as controlled as it seems, there are undercurrents. Beyond the perfume counters, there's resistance. They call themselves The Faded, and their clothes are too unfashionable to be sold here.