Along the central boulevard of Galactic Wall Street, five colossal skyscrapers stood cold, dark, and hollow.
Vaults #2, #3, #4, #5, and #6 loomed over the plaza like gloomy monuments to a dead empire.
For forty thousand years, these towering buildings had been the beating heart of galactic misery.
In their basements were soundproof debtor interrogation cells where sect elders were forced to sign blood-oaths under torturous soul-seals.
On their ground floors were frantic foreclosure auction pits where entire moons and star-veins were sold off for unpaid compound interest.
On their top floors were luxurious private balconies where the Usury Ancestors drank aged star-wine while calculating how many children would starve after their quarterly interest hikes.
Now, their corporate logos had been scraped off the marble facades.
Their private enforcers were gone, their accounting servers had been impounded by the tribunal, and their iron gates stood wide open to the sky.
