There is a stillness in the majority of the station. Dark windows and dusty streets show how few survive outside the well-lit habzone.
Every door and window in the ruins rests open and dark, with empty food containers and torn wrappers protruding from their cocoon of dust. Footprints break the illusion of timelessness in the empty apartments and still businesses. A flash of white occasionally reaches up from the monotonous gray, curving ribs or skull a bleak reminder of what remains buried. The buildings themselves bear little damage and only the most fragile fixtures have drooped or shattered.
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