The Capitol Building

When the door from Milliways opens, it opens into a dim and dusty space that smells like still air and old smoke. Things burned here, once; things died here. The scorch marks on some of the walls bear that out, as do the fractures and chip-marks in the tiles of the floor. It takes some blinking and adjusting to the dimness to see the place more clearly than that. Once this was a lobby, wide and high-ceilinged, with a curved reception desk and brass lighting fixtures. There were computer terminals and framed art and all the other little signs of civilization. But that was two hundred years ago, and it shows. Only the places where marble and polished granite decorated the walls still look anywhere close to healthy. The ceiling sags, where it isn't cracked or broken. The lamp-works fell long ago, rusting or being stolen. The terminals are still there, but the metal's covered in corrosion, the screens shattered, and it's best not to think about the state of the keyboards.

"This was the National Archives entry area," Ellen says quietly. "I've been here before. It was the safest place I could find this close to the Capitol. Star Paladin Cross is outside just in case any of the mutants decide to crawl out of the Mall trenches and come investigate."