KINGS CROSS TRAIN STATION; LONDON 2060

The sprawl of Europe's Largest Station, was a cathedral of glinting steel and molecularly bonded glass that kissed the bruised sky, like an unwanted admirer. They called it the Leviathan Terminus, and in the year of the Great Reset, it squatted where old King’s Cross had dreamed in brick and steam centuries ago.

A million souls, like blood cells in the veins, transited, onwards and through.

You could stand on the uppermost concourse, the wind a low hum against the panes, and guess as to the passengers demands. Some booked a suite for three days as it was easier to log in and work than stay at home. Inside the vast station there existed a collection of data-hustlers, homeless tourists, and increasingly few genuine travellers.

They made up the fragile jewel box humming with the nervous energy of a continent on the move.