(I like the idea of an ancient Las Vegas. It already goes along with how I described Walter’s experiences with it… As far as actual description of it, I can offer what my mind’s eye sees and yay or nay may be given.
There is a singular building that is the main focus of the city. The center or the zenith of the form. All other buildings around it are inferior in size and in splendor. The building is dark, of course, and rises 99 stories into the air. There is something within, but it’s not specifically certain what. A relic of power? Wealth? Evil? Either its auras do not penetrate the walls of the building, or the walls are stifling it on purpose. There is still a song, though. Voices can be heard.
Most of the city is buried beneath the desert. This will allow more interaction over the scale of the place and not have to worry about treks around it. Things and people will be easier to find this way. It will also place more emphasis on the main building itself.
Graffito is very present, and it signifies that the city was occupied by warring tribes until very recently. No signs of native dwellers remain. It is all empty save for those who have a purpose to be there.
There are several tracks that run through the city and its surrounding areas. Most of them are elevated such as the monorail in New Vegas is, but there are a few stations for loading and unloading passengers. Ka has decided that Blaine is indeed connected to these rails and may travel about them freely.
That’s all I have for now, but I’ll try to envision more and add to the details.)
It was all gone. Meaning, reality, form and time; gone as if it never was. In the wake of this massive empty, significance was made void and to have existed meant quantum nothing. Bleakness became matter. And that was the truth.
Until it broke.
He found himself erect upon his wakening, as if he had just nodded off during a brisk evening stroll around town. Already walking as if with a purpose. So he continued for a minute or two until the numbness of his mind allowed him no further. The ears heard the crows, the mouth tasted the salt of the teeth, the nose smelled the iron of the blood. As pleasant as it was he found it to whelm him. He was a babe once again. Unknowing and soft; a grown man-child in denim jeans and a plain white cotton shirt.
He did what a babe does best. He screamed.
His jaw groaned in its grooves as it was opened to its limits and his lips cracked and flaked. The sound that howled from his lungs was guttural and raw; more of beast than of man. But it roared into the sky and beyond with force to commune with the gods themselves until his form could no longer support the fatigue. He fell to the ground like Satan. Silent and pitiful.
And whispered from his mouth like wind floating through a house of bones were four simple words that combined into a quite powerful declaration.
“My life for you.”
[A young man wandered the narrow streets of the abandoned town. He had been there two days—maybe three—with no memory of how he had gotten there, or where he’d been before. In the nights since becoming aware of himself, for lack of a better term, he had had dreams of a blinding white light, but that was all.
He didn’t even know his name.
He had found a fair amount of canned food and dehydrated drink mixes in the empty buildings, and the well he’d found behind what might have once been a general store hadn’t dried up. He thanked God for that as he fought for every stream of watter dragged up from the ground by the rusty hand pump. He was even glad for the blisters it gave him. It meant he was alive.
As he walked idly through the empty streets of the town—or maybe it was a city; yes, a small city was more accurate—he sang a snippet of song under his breath.]
Baby, can you dig your man. He’s a righteous man. Oh, baby, can you dig your man?