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Booker’s feet slammed hard against the pavement as he ran, Elizabeth right behind him. The streets around them were a scene of devastation, as if they had been turned upside down and kicked about by a furious giant. Everywhere windows were smashed, buildings lay in ruins and all manner of rubble littered the roads. The air cracked with gunfire all around, as Columbia’s security forces battled the Vox Populi rebels. In the sky above, an airship spiralled down in a mass of flames, it’s klaxon waling. “We’re almost there,” Booker said as he stopped next to an overturned fruit cart to catch his breath. “Are you sure we can trust Daisy?” Elizabeth said, stopping beside him. “Not like we have much of a choice,” he replied, “And without her you’d still be trapped in Comstock house.” He took a tattered piece of paper from his pocket and studied it for a moment. “According to Fitzroy the hanger should just be round the corner,” he said, stuffing the paper back into his waistcoat. The