Short: Changing Skies
It was a deep and moonless night and the town was asleep. Like an invisible serpent, the stench of fish and rotten seaweed slithered through the narrow cobbled streets and dark alleys. Was it not for a few rats skulking in the shadows, one could think the town has been long deserted.
In one of the murky alleyways connecting the town’s square with its Market district stood a house. Once grandiose, the building was now in a pitiful state. Its sandstone walls were grey with thick layers of dust and dirt, and a large part of its left wing was sank underground, like dragged down by some invisible force. On the wall, illuminated by a faint flicker of a solitary gas lamp, was a rusted metal plate that read Zentral Wasserwerk und Registratur 12A (Central Waterstation and Filing 12A).
Upon entering through the heavy wooden door, the building opened into a wide atrium. In its centre stood a windowless grey structure of solid concrete, anchored to the ground by four thick steel ropes like some strange ship. Walking inside, one could easily get lost in a labyrinth of small offices and interweaving corridors built around a large open space area. There, like a lone buoy in the sea of desks, sat a man.
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