The Broken-Chain is a pack of Iron Masters in Mid-Paradi Section B, closer to the central core of the city, where the train lines spiral down and up between Upper and Lower Paradi. The pack is currently comprised of Shackles, War-Heart, Iron-Eyes, Spider, Danny, and Farrah. Their totem is an industrial spirit of conception and building, called Gears-of-Industry.

It's a heavily industrialized area with housing units giving way to five-story factories and import/export businesses. The air in their territory is thick from the exhaust and other emissions which always linger near the top of the plate above. There are small pockets, here and there, where even the homeless won't dwell, since the air is too thin to even light a cigarette.

Dull, artificial orange-yellow light illuminates the zone and the whir of the enormous ventilation fans overhead is a constant droning. Exposed wires, lights, and signs plastered everywhere decorate the territory like wallpaper. There's a railyard hub nearby as well.

The territory is always busy with shipping coming and going. Workers mill about between first, second, and third shifts. Prostitutes ply their trade to those looking for a quick bit of stress relief or a chance to escape the grind. Saks and Eight, a large intersection ringed with cheap restaurants and nude bars, is also a major drug hub.

The pack's base of operations is called 'The Fortress'. It's a steel-sided, industrial building three stories tall, bordering an industrial park and a tenement building complex. From the outside, it looks like every other warehouse, with a pair of Rottweilers lurking behind a chained-in fenced enclosure. The dogs don't look friendly. They don't growl and they don't bark. They stare, tense, like they're ready to run someone down, drag them behind the crates next to the building, and eat them alive. Anyone approaching the front, metal door has to walk a corridor between the fences with those dogs mere feet away on the other side. Cameras with IR monitor the perimeter.

The interior entry area is a fenced-in room, with sheet metal walls dividing it up. There's security cameras that monitor the inside and a pair of wooden stairs in the back leads up, further into the pack's area. The air inside smells greasy, like oil and the faint, sharp acrid tang of gunpowder.

Up those stairs is the rest of the facility, a twenty-foot high roof with steel girders in a warehouse-style open space. There's a large, old style industrial press in the center of this room. The press is the focal point of the building and serves as the pack's locus.

The pack has living quarters as well, small rooms where they can relax and have a modicum of privacy. Iron-Eyes has a workshop for his vehicles in the basement level as well.

Traits of The Fortress

• +2 to any Crafts rolls; abundant tools make any job easier.
• Safe Place 5 (+5 Initiative to those with access, -5 all rolls to breach the Fortresses security. Numerous traps for intruders)
• The Machine Press (3-dot locus)
• House 1 (Effective +1 Resources, Privacy, +1 to summon conceptual spirits)
• Mean ass guard dogs outside
• Residential Area 2 (Not the fortress itself but nearby tenement dwellings; once per session up to 2-dots of Allies, Contacts, or Retainers can be accessed. These must make sense for the area. The people so accessed will require token favors in return)