Fitness.
Powerless. Well, Anna, you are in many ways powerless but specifically you have no power in your apartment. One could say it was caused by the storm but the wire to the building was cut clean in half, not knocked down like it would from a falling limb. Odd. Don't think now. Leave now. Leave the building because outside there is sun, however grey its light can be. There, as it always is, is the fountain. "Soon you all shall see!" yells one of the cultists form their police designated fountain zone roughly 10 meters from the pitiful structure that vomits stagnant water. Most days there are only one or two in the zone, but today would appear to be almost a holiday for the cooks. Fifteen this morning. At least. And then another, not a cultist. Not in the silver tunic or with the gel-plastic masks. A green corduroy set of trousers with a ruffled and yellowed shirt and suspenders. Young but with thinning hair. He's the barman's boy, seen him on the odd break of sobrie...