A solitary figure in trenchcoat and fedora resolves through the hazy outlines - Thomas Danielson himself, walking away from the camera's prying lens as he approaches the imposing, anonymous facade of Daedalus Architects' sanctum sanctorum.
Daedalus' brutalist bunker of poured concrete and steel, was the first edifice established in what would become the city's comprehensive concrete remaking. While lesser structures fell before Danielson's wrecking balls, the Daedalus office remained the inviolable command centre from which his grand reconfigurations radiated. No physical piece of its cloistered interiors is known to have escaped into the outside world, with the cruel austerity of its solitary entryway posthumously sealed after building works in the city were completed.
Did its lightless drafting rooms harbour secrets too profound or blasphemous for the public's reckoning? Or was the offices' self-imposed sensory deprivation merely an extension of Danielson's ascetic design philosophy, stripping away all gratuitous architectural affectations until only a pure, primordial spatial ideology remained?
Like the master planner's own notoriously obscured inner thoughts, his figure's silhouette about to pass through the steel-shrouded portal evokes a mythic journey into unmapped ontological territory. Where the spark of cold, mathematical grandiosity first ignites before smouldering across the urban fabric in its wake.
