[ He will not be building anything, Silco thinks. He can see it, the grains of sand in the hourglass, he knows they are coming. He does not know how much sand is left, but he can see it dribbling through, watching each minute eke away, some wasted, some not, but Silco knows that he will not have the opportunity to do so. After all, once his wish is granted, what will be left?

His lips tighten. ]

Someplace wild, and strong. [ He says, instead of the truth. ] Where the powerful and the driven will flourish. Where the only limitation is what you are willing to do to achieve what you want.

[ Silco himself is not a chaotic man. That much is clear. He is neat, tidy, and though there is the ripple of scars on his face, and the pitch black eye that never blinks, everything else about him screams "control freak", down to the makeup and drawn in eyebrow. The place he speaks of sounds the opposite. Chaotic. Wild. Free. Silco dreams of making a world that he could be proud of, where only a certain kind of person could flourish. ]

If you wish a picture of it, Kowloon is close, though it has its flaws.