Residential Quarters

You hold your watch to the door’s keypad, requesting clearance and expecting yet another ACCESS DENIED message or perhaps a janitorial closet, bitter with the scent of cleaning chemicals. Instead a light flashes green and the door swoops open to reveal an entire city. There is a feeling of walking into an unfathomable stadium, densely packed homes stacked one atop another to form the wall that rises up, encircling an ominously cracked glass-panel floor that was once the ceiling. No longer a window to the sky, the only constellations visible now are named for safety hazards. Mountains of belongings — clothing, toys, love notes, furniture, toothbrushes, packets of food — both personal and communal, form drifts of wreckage upon the glass like a sudden junkyard created in the settling of the crash. Upon closer look, there are few exterior walls to the cliffside living spaces that surround you. Balconies are divided by little more than swaths of hung fabric, fluttering eerily with the ship’s ventilation system. Elegant spiral staircases swirl up between criss-crossing clotheslines still weighted with laundry, the architecture opening itself at every opportunity with curved archways and rounded corners. Less damaged homes still have beds and tables bolted into place, with shared kitchens and bathrooms at major junctions between sleeping quarters. Dozens of stories above, the most daring explorers will discover a wide open park filled with recreational areas that must once have been filled with bustling life. Playground equipment winds through a curved maze of freestanding walls covered in hand painted murals of all skill levels. Various athletic fields are fitted together like clever puzzle pieces with wide running and biking paths dividing them. Massive sculptures made of eclectic recycled materials are dotted throughout. This was once a vibrant community, but now there is only you and the constant threat of your enemies.