Torn and rusted, a shelter for the lost, for the temporal.

Some room to breathe in this tanked shell of water and stasis. Scramble up the lines to a clean surface.

A narrow, skeletal machine with a beige plastic skin over its lifeless wings.

Shatter through a glass hive, a home of crisp metal and mirror, a construct of line and shape.

You creak with finesse, focus with might. You open the waters, shed the metal, and dive right in. What a cold day.

A shaky metal dinosaur looms on the horizon. You can feel its silent rusty growl.

The arch hangs delicately in balance.