Every morning, all throughout 12th Street Station, the klaxon can be heard. Without a sun to tell the people of 12th Street when morning has come and night has ended, the tunnelers needed another way to signal the day's start. They managed salvage a loudspeaker set up from the ruins below the earth, and they were able to power it with generators rigged up to run on sap from the trees above, collected by the daylighters. Every morning, the loudspeaker blares with a terrible noise to wake the tunnelers.
You found a nice place to stay last night. A room set off from the rest of 12th Street. It was filled with machinery, broken down, rusted, cracked, old, but still...somehow nice to look at. The shapes, the way they overlap, fit over each other. It's somehow a mirror of the surface, chaotic order, ordered chaos. You fell asleep with a scavenged blanket made out of old car cushions pulled over you, contemplating those shapes in the darkness as thin orange light from the daylighters' lamps slipped through the cracks in the walls.
Now, the klaxon sounds. And now, you're awake. How do you feel about the klaxon? Is it just plain annoying, or are you used to it?
The light is brighter, and you can faintly smell the burning cinnamon scent of the lamps. There's one not far outside the room, and the fumes coming off it gently trickle past your nose. You're not sure exactly what they burn; some combination of salvaged coal with stuff from the surface.
And then, the light trickling into the room vanishes. Someone is standing outside.
In there? A man's voice. You think you recognize it. Dremmer?
Ya. Saw 'im coom in dere las' noight. That's Omie Wise, one of the daylighter women. She's on and off kind, depending on whether she's been laid recently. Sometimes, she gives you some leftover bread. Sometimes, she cuffs you on the ear as you walk by, calls you a freak.
Good. Get out of here. You hear a jingle, and then footsteps.
Yo. Weird kid. You in there?
What do you do?