The rain hammered against the glass dome that encased New Haven like tears against a coffin lid. Detective Sarah Chen pressed her palm against the cool surface of her apartment window, watching the water cascade down in endless sheets. Beyond the transparent barrier, the city sprawled in all directions—a maze of towering spires and forgotten alleyways where justice had become as scarce as sunlight.

It had been three years since the dome sealed them in. Three years since the outside world decided that New Haven's crime rate had reached an unacceptable threshold. The government's solution was elegant in its simplicity: contain the problem. Lock the city away from the rest of civilization and let it solve itself. What they hadn't anticipated was how quickly society could crumble when hope was systematically extracted like air from a vacuum chamber.

Sarah's reflection stared back at her from the window—hollow cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, and the kind of weariness that sleep couldn't cure. At thirty-two, she had already seen enough corruption to last several lifetimes. The police force she had joined with such idealistic fervor had become little more than another gang, complete with territory disputes and protection rackets. The thin blue line had turned into a noose around the city's neck.

Her radio crackled to life, interrupting her brooding. "Chen, we've got another one. Warehouse district, Building 47. Same M.O. as the others."

Sarah grabbed her coat and holster, her stomach already churning. The same M.O. meant another corrupt official found dead, their crimes laid bare for all to see. For the past six months, someone had been systematically targeting the worst of New Haven's power structure. The media—what little remained of it—had dubbed the killer "The Cleanser." Sarah preferred to think of him as a problem she couldn't solve.