Achilles

In Troy, Achilles would have been a great warrior, fighting bravely and falling swiftly to a merciful arrow.
But the City of Ghosts spares no one, least of all foreign heroes. It breaks their ankles, presses them into the ground, denies them the chance to rise, and grinds them into paste, smiling all the while with toilet-white veneers from filthy billboards.
Our Achilles may be found in the city center, around Rondo ONZ, begging for coins from passing ghosts, as hell burns quietly in the gray concrete around him.