Day 1,949

The lower levels hadn't had natural rain for several decades now, too crowded in by countless upper layers - improvements authorised by a suit who'd never set foot in the city. They eagerly added level upon level upon level and pretended like the lower floors were only occupied because nobody could be bothered to move.

They didn't know who or what was in their precious city, only that money flowed in and out and not even the tax collector dared to set foot in there. It had a reputation for being in the pockets of dangerous men but, of course, no names were ever mentioned.

It was seventy three years before anyone realised the residents had all left or died long ago and that the money was all automated beyond the point of needing people to give it purpose. Wages were distributed, direct debits were paid once a month and the world assumed there were beings of flesh behind it all.

Washing once left out to dry was now little more than mould-ridden rags drenched in something that leaked from the upper levels which in turn had lines full of sunbleached scraps that might have been clothing or bedding. The same went for curtains, posters stuck to windows and countless shades of paint meant to make the place less like a slum and more like a home.

The same went for the bodies the found - waterlogged and covered in a thick layer of unnameable slime that trickled down to the lower layers while the upper ones were stripped bare and scattered by whatever winds managed to make their way through the labyrinth of passages and staircases.

There was no mention anywhere of the cause for evacuation or the cause of death for the hundreds of remains they found. All anyone knew for sure was that the uppermost layers were still occupied and the residents were not human in the slightest.