You are downtown amidst tall corporate towers, condominiums, banks, and expensive hotels. Two transit buses are crumpled together from a decade-old collision. A narrow path has been cleared between hundreds of jam-packed vehicles.
- Searching the area, you find nothing to take. You follow the narrow vehicle-bordered path up and down the street. Paint on the dented sides of those vehicles has been scraped. It is hard to tell how long ago the streets were "bulldozed" and whether they were really going anywhere, or merely doing a public service.
You inspect the transit bus collision, a T-bone. There are still advertisements plastered on the sides and within the bus. Some refer to debt or insurance, completely devoid of apocalyptic premonitions. A government notice asks citizens to report unusual aggressiveness, passivity, or abrupt changes in beliefs among coworkers, friends and family members. Another notice lists places and cities that are "no travel zones" but maintains that this city will remain open.
Behind a window of the Margesson Hotel are the words: No vacancies. No visitors. Peering through that window, you see the inside is wrecked. Wallpaper is torn and furniture is hacked apart. The ceiling is sagging in one area. There seems to be no attempt at barricading.
Inventory:
- You carry only a smashed radio. It has been a long ride. Your blue jeans are shredded; the T-shirt, stretched 2 sizes larger, is more red than white, and your shoes are unaccounted for. You wear a crumpled paper party hat.
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