Stations of the Underground

Just a short commute from Terminus are the farming stations; air heavy with the damp of soil, and forever bathed in an ultraviolet glow. The land is far from quiet, though, and generations of labourers spend their every waking hour tending meticulously to the crops, their skill and crucial knowledge passed solemnly from parent to child. Given the inherent nature of the Underground, space is strictly limited, and resources even more so—architects and farmers work closely together to maximise the efficiency of their make-do system. Tightly-packed, vertical shelves climb endlessly to the very corners of each room, hosting a great range of high-yield, quick-turnover crops—these farms form the backbone of the nutrition distribution system of the community. As the Underground’s population has grown, however, steadily and surely, the farms have struggled to keep up with demand. Where their plots were once neatly organised and contained, recent years have seen the roots sprawling deeper into the tunnels, nestling into the dark depths of every cavern and crevice alike; their yields increasingly unfamiliar and bizarre. This seems to matter very little, though—the community cannot afford to be captious, and hey, the food tastes… okay.

Did you think living underground your whole life never seeing the light of the sun would be a misery? Well, don't you look awfully silly! Ludere Station's Hall of Recreation has everything to offer: a tranquil garden where you can close your eyes, just for a moment, and imagine you’re above ground; the local watering hole, where you can sample some of the finest water in the Underground (imported straight from Bibere!); a place to hear the latest news from across the furthest depths of the Earth, as well as to catch up with your friends. Everything!

Well, everything apart from sunlight. And the garden's grass is, of course, the Underground's finest polyethylene, and strictly limited to a four-by-four metre section to the far end of the station. You see, 'cramped' certainly describes many of our stations, but is perhaps most apt in describing Ludere—the station is positively miniscule, and thus entertainment options are kept rigidly in their designated zones. The watering hole refers to little more than a tap, and the newspaper stand is a… printer, atop a rather rickety wooden table.

The appeal of Ludere is, despite it all, obvious—it is perhaps the quietest of the stations, and inhabitants may frequent its grounds in order to simply… breathe.

Amongst the cold and damp of the Underground, one station shines out with (relative) cleanliness—Medicus, the creatively named grounds of this community's hospital facilities. Strapped for resources and overworked as every other commodity, the station is far from perfect, but its staff work tirelessly to maintain its good name.

And good name it has—a sacred trust is placed in its members, and skills are passed carefully from one generation to the next, and a burning care is held for the population. The prohibition on alcohol was at least in part pushed by the workers of Medicus after a notable set of instances a decade ago. (Alcohol and heavy machinery is not a wise combination.)

This hospital is a sanctuary; the lights are always on, here—no matter when you may need it, Medicus is open for you.