A brass-bodied camera rig, weighing over five hundred pounds, whirred to life beside Arthur, capturing the sweeping, breathtaking panorama of the harbor. The towering silhouette of the Woolworth Building pierced the fog in the distance, a monument to human ambition, while right beneath it, the Bulla Gabriel drifted toward the docks like an unearthly mountain range.

A brass-bodied camera rig, weighing over five hundred pounds, whirred to life beside Arthur, capturing the sweeping, breathtaking panorama of the harbor. The towering silhouette of the Woolworth Building pierced the fog in the distance, a monument to human ambition, while right beneath it, the Bulla Gabriel drifted toward the docks like an unearthly mountain range.

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crisp pamphlet printed on heavy bond paper, fresh off the press of the corporate public relations department. On the cover, embossed in gold leaf, was a stylized rendering of the Ark framed by the twin torches of Standard and Mobil.

Beneath the image, a single word was stamped in bold, uncompromising ink:

PEACE.

It was a strange word for an engine of unimaginable, disruptive power. But as the first steam horn blasted from the harbor, echoing off the skyscrapers of Manhattan in a triumphant, metallic roar, Arthur understood.

It wasn't the peace of the lamb. It was the peace of the absolute monopoly. The storm had arrived, and the future had already been billed.

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