There's a street in the increasingly gentrified community Bowness that is completely unlike the rest of the district. A stone's throw from postwar subsidized housing you find a street from which little to none of the rest of the city is visible. The street is much rougher and bumpier than any other road in the city. While the city acknowledges the road exists, they classify it as a country lane despite the fact that the rest of the district is zoned as inner city. The street's potholes make driving treacherous, so park your car at the mouth of the street and walk.
While the rest of Bowness is mostly made of old working class homes, this street is home to some of the largest, nicest houses in the city. All of them are at least thirty years old, and none of them are cookie-cutter McMansions. The street itself is rural, with old fashioned wooden power lines and lots of trees. It's like something Norman Rockwell would have painted. But don't let your guard down for a second.
At the end of the street you'll discover a cul de sac made up of slightly newer, cheaper houses. Until early last year, at any one time one of the houses would be uninhabited other than the dead body of a student from nearby Bowness High in the garage and a trio of silent, shell-shocked looking men. The bodies were sacrifices to the men, who are the ghosts of the soldiers who were given lots on the street by the government after the First World War. Until the sacrifices were disrupted by the CVS they ensured the city's prosperity and the street's seclusion.