Freder looked across the city at the building known to the world as the "New Tower of Babel." In the brain-pan of this New Tower of Babel lived the man who was

Freder looked across the city at the building known to the world as the "New Tower of Babel." In the brain-pan of this New Tower of Babel lived the man who was himself the Brain of Metropolis. As long as the man over there, who was nothing but work, despising sleep, eating and drinking mechanically, pressed his fingers on the blue metal plate, which apart from himself, no man had ever touched, so long would the voice of the machine-city of Metropolis roar for food, for food, for food... She wanted living men for food. Then the living food came pushing along in masses. Along the street it came, along its own street which never crossed with other people's streets. It rolled on, a broad, an endless stream. The stream was twelve files deep. They walked in even step. Men, men, men--all in the same uniform, from throat to ankle in dark blue linen, bare feet in the same hard shoes, hair tightly pressed down by the same black caps. And they all had the same faces. And they all appeared to be of the same age. They held themselves straightened up, but not straight. They did not raise their heads, they pushed them forward. They planted their feet forward, but they did not walk. The open gates of the New Tower of Babel, the machine center of Metropolis, gulped the masses down. An snippet from Metropolis by Thea Von Harbou