Location: A few blocks of what was apparently some kind of alien city; the buildings are sleek, unadorned metal walls in blue-grey and green-grey, on all sides and all so staggeringly tall that it feels more like being at the bottom of a ravine. Oh yeah and let's not forget the whole thing is underwater. Everyone can breathe and talk just fine, and somehow gravity still wants you to walk along the ground -- you can break away and swim if you try, but it's harder the further up you try to go. Fish and other ocean fauna roam freely, having made themselves at home, and here and there some determined stands of sea vegetables have managed to break through the streets' metallic shell. The light that filters down from above will dim further as the event goes on, and this penned-in space among the giant imposing buildings may start to seem pretty claustrophobic.

There is little trace of whoever built the city. The buildings are so committed to their inhospitable harsh-utilitarian aesthetic that it's hard to even find a door or window, and inside they barely have so much as furniture, which is in any case likely to be ruined and/or colonized by sea creatures. The same can be said for any remaining scraps of broken-down technology. However, solely because I'm nice, if you look hard enough, you might in fact find a door somewhere that functions as a closet. Why not, it's a dream.

Direction: West.