A set of air intakes and exhaust pipes over the buried communications and control equipment rooms.
Lockers for the boiler room workers.
A typical shower in the old section of the hospital. It looks a little horrifying in the harsh light of a camera flash on the thousands of little white tiles. One soap holder hadn’t been stolen yet.
Before each warhead was crated, it was inspected.
The tangled telegraph lines between Mitchell and the engine house keep the old pole from topping in the wind.
A bathroom in the rear of the ballroom that overlooks the Rose Garden.
Easier-to-demolish parts of the power plant were torched apart. Catwalks to nowhere meant lots of dead ends.
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.
Inside this small iron clad mine is a couch and some clothes. It seems that for a short while, someone was living inside of it…