Beneath the earth, the underground city sprawled in eerie perfection, an artificial imitation of the world left behind. The sky was a seamless digital illusion, shifting between dawn and dusk in a controlled cycle. Neatly arranged suburban streets stretched outward, each lined houses that were homes to families, looking almost identical to the ones that had been above. The grass smelled fresh, as did the newly planted flowers.

Beyond the suburbs, the heart of the city pulsed with life, shopfronts advertising products, people going about their routines as if it was just another day. With billboards high above busy intersections, cars honking in traffic. It was like nothing had even changed, it felt so real. Too real, this man-made world, deep underground.

At the city's center stood the underground White House, a monument to the old world preserved in cold, clinical precision. Unlike its ruined counterpart above, this replica gleamed under artificial sunlight, its columns smooth and unblemished, its façade frozen in a permanent state of grandeur. The Rose Garden remained neatly trimmed thanks to the many tending gardners, flowers refreshed. Inside, the Oval Office was just as it had been before — resolute desk untouched, curtains drawn just enough to let a comforting light in. Inside, is where Cal is.