Literature
the bomb machine.
Deep beneath the concrete crust of the crackling city humidity lay a dank and decrepit underground passage which, before the war, had been connected to a vast labyrinth of subway. The trains, turned over and rusted, or vanished without so much as a oil stain, no longer ran and the power had been cut from the iron rails years before. A thick, fluffy moss covered most of the line. An air pocket within the grand, silent ruin remained untouched by the freakish spurting growth of toxic foliage, a large but cramped room in which useless machines were hoarded by the lone inhabitants.
The dark and dingy lamps hummed tonelessly above. On the floor l