Back when the government could keep it together, before the war and the sex bans, back before most of us ravers were born, this city had a train system. Mica could remember it, from when he was a child, but even then it was only a few stops left going uptown. Typical Bourgeoisie brat Mica. The trains used to run underground, and stations were at what felt like every corner. Convenient to the commuter, but not so much to a sap sucking populous of heads and ravers. The tunnels lay dormant for a year or two at most, before we started creeping in. Setting up dwellings, leasing out stations, installing outlets and stringing extension cords down deep into the cavernous network that was the tunnel system. Club Corona was one of the many underground gathering places that made up the undernet, and the only thing it had in common with most defunct train stations was the persistent draft coming from the empty tunnels. Club Corona was a Piss club, a “non sexual” establishment, although nobody was looking too closely. My apartment, which I share with several friends and former friends, is not a part of the Undernet, but we are a block up from a former station, so we are sufficiently tapped in to the culture.