One thing I like about the oppressive globalist-wrought future is the idea of numerically subdividing spaces; my geek side sort of wants to live in a flat that can be sorted by as Dewey Decimal-like code.
Far above the areas that were heavily scrapped, I found some old bottles to collect samples of the sour mash whiskey as it made its was from the distillation room to barrel filling.
Most of the gauges on the control panels were broken.
Old parts catalogs litter the floor. The office overlooks empty shelves. Graffiti glue peeling paint in place.
The aft lifeboat survived auction, although now all it holds is an emergency ladder to help men who’ve fallen overboard get on deck.
The floor IS the machine…
Stacks of patient record cards; names in the graveyard. All ‘Not Improved’.
The rear of engine bay 13… according to the heavily faded sign.
A disconnected speaker at stage right. I liked the colors and the texture of the sound tiles.