(...) I heard a troubling click. My Geiger counter – may it rest in peace. I stood on a glass surface, some parts smooth as ice, others cracked and jagged. The earth I walked on was formed from melted sand after a thermonuclear bomb detonated here – one of the five that fell on Dubai.
I recalled old stills from the end of the twentieth century: skyscrapers like crystal obelisks touching the sky, supercars, palm trees. Now – nothing. Like a surreal frozen sea blanketed by the irradiated dust of the Arabian Peninsula and glinting under the desert sun.
But nearby, in the city's former suburbs, life continues on. Difficult, brutal, cutthroat, but life nonetheless. Few dare venture outside without a hazmat suit, makeshift or otherwise. Any sort of dwelling must be built with concrete walls, measuring at least thirteen feet thick. And without a single window. This offers survival, yes, but to what end? Unlike in the corporate haven of New Dubai erected deeper into the Arabian Gulf, the average life expectancy in Old Dubai is a mere thirty years.
Still, some have found advantages to life here. No visitors. Neither NetWatch nor any corporate special forces unit will deploy here. This land of glass and dust has become asylum for some of the world's most wanted criminals. Some say they are only biding their time until an early death delivers them to hell. Some say they are already there.
