This is supposed to be the future? All I can say is that the future will be garish. Lights everywhere, flashing, beaming, lasing in one giant epilepsy-inducing mash.
I sought refuge in a small bar. Even there, the effort at sensory overload was largely successful.
As mysterious as the flash was, more mysterious was this field, tucked down a corridor and behind a set of doors. It was a delicious refuge from the lights.
I wandered into a strip club, whereupon my fully-clothed self worked the stage to an empty room. The tip jar stayed empty, too.