The apartment village is not far from the edge of the Interbay, centered around the 26th/27th Place loop - none of the buildings quite as tall as the one at 34th and Emerson, though are some perhaps slightly creepier due to the weathered metal decorations of geometric shapes still hanging on their sides. The trees around them are overgrown, and some branches have broken through the windows into the buildings themselves. On many of the balconies, the sliding glass doors are shattered or torn clear off their tracks. Some of the buildings have swimming pools, in just as vile a condition as the ones by the houses.
Many of the apartments bear signs that something was nesting in them - and it was much bigger than rats. On the ground and to a lesser extent the second floor, the signs of habitation seem to point to multiple different types of incomprehensibly vile things, but on the higher floors, they seem predominantly insectile - though no less outsized and grotesque.
However, pushing past one’s inevitable disgust at the strange signs of life might yield rewards; many of the apartments appear to have been looted, but those that were missed still contain the occasional bottle of liquor - hidden just well enough for the original tenants to forget about it in their haste to leave - and some forgotten cutlery and cookware. There’s even some camping equipment in a handful of apartments - the tents and blankets are too rodent- and... otherwise-infested to be worth taking, but there are plastic tarps, lengths of rope, canteens, and even a few pitons that are still usable. In the backs of three or four closets, there are even what look like surplus Vietnam medical kits; the aluminum containers seem to have kept any animals from getting at the supplies inside.
Along with supplies, there are a handful of small oddities to be observed, if one explores at great length.
In one second floor unit, the living room seems to hold nothing but smashed instruments: mostly guitars, but also a drum set and even a twisted and warped saxophone. In amongst the broken instruments, if one looks closely, are the remains of shattered records and torn sheet music.
Another accessible second floor apartment offers a strange and curious sight. Though the rooms are as damaged and infested as the rest, in the shower stall of the bathroom - if one is brave enough to venture within that particular room - is a grandfather clock, showing little damage and even occasionally letting out a weak ‘tick tock’ as its pendulum struggles to swing. Oddly enough, all its cogs and gears appear rusted far beyond working use.
The third most unsettling scene - for some degree of ‘unsettling’, one supposes - is a first floor unit that shows, as all the others, the signs of infestation and destruction. But the smell in here is far worse, rotten meat and sickness. It emanates from the fridge, a silent unit of the ever classic goldenrod coloration, the door defaced with the spray painted words ‘it’s so dark in here’.
Apartment Village
Many of the apartments bear signs that something was nesting in them - and it was much bigger than rats. On the ground and to a lesser extent the second floor, the signs of habitation seem to point to multiple different types of incomprehensibly vile things, but on the higher floors, they seem predominantly insectile - though no less outsized and grotesque.
However, pushing past one’s inevitable disgust at the strange signs of life might yield rewards; many of the apartments appear to have been looted, but those that were missed still contain the occasional bottle of liquor - hidden just well enough for the original tenants to forget about it in their haste to leave - and some forgotten cutlery and cookware. There’s even some camping equipment in a handful of apartments - the tents and blankets are too rodent- and... otherwise-infested to be worth taking, but there are plastic tarps, lengths of rope, canteens, and even a few pitons that are still usable. In the backs of three or four closets, there are even what look like surplus Vietnam medical kits; the aluminum containers seem to have kept any animals from getting at the supplies inside.
Along with supplies, there are a handful of small oddities to be observed, if one explores at great length.
In one second floor unit, the living room seems to hold nothing but smashed instruments: mostly guitars, but also a drum set and even a twisted and warped saxophone. In amongst the broken instruments, if one looks closely, are the remains of shattered records and torn sheet music.
Another accessible second floor apartment offers a strange and curious sight. Though the rooms are as damaged and infested as the rest, in the shower stall of the bathroom - if one is brave enough to venture within that particular room - is a grandfather clock, showing little damage and even occasionally letting out a weak ‘tick tock’ as its pendulum struggles to swing. Oddly enough, all its cogs and gears appear rusted far beyond working use.
The third most unsettling scene - for some degree of ‘unsettling’, one supposes - is a first floor unit that shows, as all the others, the signs of infestation and destruction. But the smell in here is far worse, rotten meat and sickness. It emanates from the fridge, a silent unit of the ever classic goldenrod coloration, the door defaced with the spray painted words ‘it’s so dark in here’.
Strangely enough, the fridge is empty.