Everyone knows that something is going down. From the lowliest bum pushing his shopping cart to the investment banker rolling down Sand Hill in his Mercedes, everyone knows that in Peninsula City anything is possible.

Peninsula City is a place of extremes. With a population of over three million, the city is almost constantly on the move, reinventing itself. Cranes are visible in its skyline and construction crews seem to work all hours. The middle class is almost completely squeezed out, relegated to outlying suburbs. What members of the middle classes that have managed to remain are squeezed into neighborhoods that alternate between elite centers of power and wealth on one block and near slum-like conditions on the next. In Peninsula City that old adage is true – the rich get richer, the poor don’t get a fucking thing.

The infrastructure of the city manages to support all of its citizens’ needs, with a municipality in place to govern the power and water, metropolitan garbage and sewer services, and a significant presence in the city’s department of public works. Like all big cities there’s bureaucracy layered on top of bureaucracy, but the residents of Peninsula City weather it with ease. It’s all the rage to have people do your waiting in line for you, a service which is provided by several small firms.

But it’s not quite a model of efficiency. There’s one universal key to getting what you need in a hurry in Peninsula City – bribery. Rumors of corruption in all levels of government abound, though the DA seems powerless to get any indictments. Everyone in Peninsula City knows someone who is either on the take or making pay-offs.

The nightlife in the city is what draws a lot of people. With gambling legalized and prostitution “overlooked” by PCPD, there are plenty of ways to engage in your favorite vice. But, there’s a cost for all this luxury. Crime runs rampant in some districts. Homicides go uninvestigated; missing children are not tracked-down; drug labs are left to their deeds. Sure, there are some good cops in Peninsula City, but there’s one of them for every 25 dirty cops and the odds are decreasing every day.

People describe Peninsula City as the last place in the country where the American dream still stands. It’s a place where a person can start with nothing, earn wealth and power beyond imagining and lose it, all in the blink of an eye. It’s a place where money talks, where dreamers and criminals come together, everyone locked in a crazed dance that is leading them all someplace terrifying. But none of them would let go. People will talk to you about getting out, about moving to the ‘burbs, buying a modular home, eating at Applebee’s and coaching little league, but it’s all bullshit. The fact of the matter is that Peninsula City gets into your veins, digs its hooks into you and whispers truths and lies in an incessant, maddening whisper that urges you on. You get addicted to the opportunity, the possibility that tomorrow could be your best day in the market or your last day on Earth.

The next time you’re out being seen, listen to the sounds of the city. In the canyons between monolithic skyscrapers you’ll hear it. In the crowded, violent tenements, you’ll feel it. In restaurants, at the grocery store, making it with that hot guy from accounting; it’s everywhere and nowhere. It’s the siren call of tomorrow, of possibility. It’s Horatio Alger and Raymond Chandler having a love child that spins tales about impossibly dark utopias in which no one ever cares and no one ever wins.

It’s you. It’s Peninsula City. And you know something’s going down.