A red-brick, low-income apartment building in the Pittsburgh Brooklyn District, just off Fourth Avenue.
The hallways here were perpetually filled with a musty smell.
The paint on the hallway walls was peeling, revealing the dark gray concrete underneath.
Smith Gaiter stood in his living room, tightly clutching an old smartphone with a cracked screen.
The call had already ended.
All that was left was the dial tone.
But he remained in the same position, holding the phone to his ear, as rigid as a wax statue.
His mind was blank and his ears were ringing, the young, powerful, and unquestionable voice from the phone call still echoing.
"I'm Leo Wallace."
"We're going to sue Pittsburgh City Hall."
Smith slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, his movements sluggish and mechanical.
He stared at the darkened screen as if a monster was hiding inside, ready to leap out at any moment.
"Whose call was that?"
