Upon reflection, it seemed nothing short of a miracle that the siren towers were functioning. Their installation, a mere decade prior, was the result of a Parliament mandate pushed forth by the Reformists amidst one of their numerous war scares. Siren towers had promptly been erected in all the major cities, causing quite the commotion before fading entirely from the public's thoughts. No living soul in Aecumen would believe if you told them the sirens would be used in their lifetime.

After all, centuries had passed since the Isles were last invaded. The Commonwealth, of course, had engaged in many wars, but they were always waged overseas. The notion that anyone would dare challenge the world's foremost naval and military power in its heartland was unfathomable.

And yet, there they were, the menacing silhouettes of airships, dozens upon dozens of them, looming against the overcast, dark sky, advancing from the Channel.

The sirens began their dreadful wail at the most inopportune time, when The Man in the Suit found himself at the center of the bridge. Too far to turn back, he decided to hurry towards the advancing fleet - and into the Inner City.

The sirens served only to incite widespread panic. It was a market day. The city would be swarming with activity.

No sooner had the Man in the Suit stepped off the bridge than a Foot Guard rudely shoved him aside. The guard's unit was hastily erecting a cordon, blockading all access to the bridge. A throng of people - gentlemen, ladies, laborers, and scoundrels alike - stampeded toward the bridge, jostling the Man as they passed. But he knew their efforts would be in vain; the Foot Guards would stand firm.