The Des Hydro Station

        This is a fifty-two story dam, a plain slab of metallic-hued concrete that once held back millions of tons of water and generated close to three gigawatts of power through its massive turbine spools. It was old even before the fall of the Creators, outmoded by matter-conversion, which allowed generators that could quite literally alter matter at the atomic level and create their own fuel indefinitely (this is why the Machines are still around). Now, the water dried up, the canals just so many dusty canyons, the dam looks pretty strange. From a distance, one can see huge, faded words written in what seems to be white paint upon the outer surface of the dam in hundred foot high letters. It is Creator text, and translates as:

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        The dam is actually a structure that can be entered, though even before the Twilight War, most of it was direlict and therefore contrained nothing of value. It is a maze of identical concrete corridors, all pitch dark (no power), leading to old control rooms, and down to the huge hydro turbine chambers. In these massive, dusty vaults lie the colossal generators that once converted the action of flowing water into electrical energy. Now the great turbines are silent, dusty, dead. There are no skeletons or remains within the corridors; they're all crowded into two control rooms near the middle of the structure, still dressed in rotting uniforms. In all, there are close to a hundred skeletons locked in these rooms.

        The top of the dam forms a road that can be used to cross the canyon. It is lined end to end with rusting metal carriages, all falling to pieces, some containing crumbling skeletons (Creators). Nothing is in good enough shape to really study. There are no Machines in this area, though there are a signs that -

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- there may have been other invividuals here recently. Some of the machinery and ruined computer banks have been taken apart and strewn about. The only real threat to those investigating the hydro plant is a serious one - ghosts. There are perhaps a score or more, luminous, faceless shapes that moan pitifully. They will frequently be spotted re-enacting scenes from the past; these are the spirits of dead Creators, doomed to forever wander the dark cement halls. While they will not attempt to communicate with visitors, they will not always attack, either. After thousands of years of isolated purgatory, they are all completely insane.

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