The West Side Market survived. That is the first thing anyone tells you about Ohio City, and it is both true and insufficient. The 1912 market building still stands at West 25th and Lorain, its clock tower rebuilt three times and its interior converted from open-air stalls to a sealed, climate-controlled food processing and distribution hub. But survival here means transformation. The market that once sold produce from local farms now distributes synthetic protein, vat-grown vegetables, and nutrient pastes manufactured by Gravemoss Biofoundry subsidiaries. The old vendor stalls have been replaced by automated dispensing units and small-batch artisan operations that cater to Tier 3 and above — real food, made from biological ingredients, at prices that would feed a Tier 1 family for a month.

The neighborhood surrounding the market has followed the same trajectory. Ohio City's craft breweries and farm-to-table restaurants evolved into a curated food-technology district where synthetic biology startups test consumer products on a population that can afford to be adventurous. The streets are cleaner than The Gate but messier than the corporate zones — a lived-in quality that the marketing materials call 'authentic' and residents call 'underfunded.' The old Victorian houses that made Ohio City architecturally distinctive in the 22nd century are mostly intact, their facades preserved by heritage ordinances that Tollgate enforces because the aesthetic drives property values. Behind the preserved facades, the interiors have been gutted and rebuilt with modern infrastructure — neural-integrated climate systems, biometric security, the standard kit of a Tier 2-3 residential zone.

The Burnished Market is Ohio City's street name, derived from the copper-toned patina that Gravemoss biofilm coatings have given to most of the neighborhood's exterior surfaces. The coating is functional — it regulates humidity and provides passive air filtration — but the visual effect is a warm, metallic sheen that makes the entire district look like it's been dipped in old pennies. Residents either love it or hate it. Gravemoss doesn't care. The coating contract pays Φ4.2 million annually and gives them a consumer-facing showcase for their biofilm technology.