A wreckage of concrete, the overpass was once a vast road carrying truckloads of mysterious nuclear substances. Now it is cracked and crumbling with plant life seeping through its fragments. One can walk along its empty roads or seek shelter beneath its bridge. Tributes will see vines wrapped around the pillars and colorful graffiti spray painted across the walls. Just be careful; it is a decrepit and unstable structure, who knows when it will start to break apart?

Tributes will smell it before they see it - the stench of human waste and toxic decay. The bubbling water adapts a sickening brownish color, gently tinged green from a mysterious sludge pouring from two large pipes. Tributes may swim if they dare, and risk contracting one of a hundred varying diseases. It is not acidic to the touch; it is slimy and warm, quite repulsive to the senses. One might assume nothing can survive in its waters, but the tributes will see the occasional shadowy figure flicker beneath the surface and wonder if it is a trick of their imagination...

Stretching across a plain of red, dusty dirt sits a field of Oil Wells. Most of the oil has now completely dried up, leaving the machines to stand as abandoned statues against the hazy horizon, but pools of oil are found sparingly in the cracked dirt. If you listen closely, one may hear the eerie sounds of machinery creaking, or it might just be the howling of muttations on the wind. One can’t help but wonder what lies beneath now that oil no longer fills the earth below.

The smell is choking. The entire area is hung in heavy smoke. You can feel your lungs screaming that there is not enough clean air here, yet you carry on. The heat is oppressive and unending, even at night. Endless stacks of tires surround you, each one engulfed in flames. They will burn forever, or so it feels, a slow and greedy devouring of rubber that will suffocate the world with its toxic fumes. Best not to stay here too long.

From a distance, they seem like beautiful mountains made of a million jewels. Upon closer inspection tributes will find hundreds of piles of recycled glass, shattered into billions of coin-sized pieces mixed with broken bottles, window panes and mirrors. Every step can be heard in the Glass Recycling Plant as tributes step on larger, jagged pieces of glass, crunching like bones underneath their weight. It’s easy to feel small whilst trekking through the faux mountains - and just as easy to slice open your skin should you lose your balance.