Facilities
Roll d66 (two dice, first as tens and second as units, 11 to 66) for a place to case, rob, or hide in. Thirty-six of them, and each gets more room than a table row, because the Crew can spend a whole night inside any one. Each has a look, a reason to be there, something in the way, and a twist waiting to turn the job loud. Roll the quick reference below, then read the write-up under it.
| d66 | Facility | Sector |
|---|---|---|
| 11 | The Acropolis Tower | Center |
| 12 | Neo Mall Underground | Center |
| 13 | The Debt Tower | West |
| 14 | The Vivid Chemical Warehouse | South industrial zone |
| 15 | The Central Interchange | Center, where the lines knot together |
| 16 | The Salvage Yard | East suburbs |
| 21 | The Flea Market | old Center, under the overpasses |
| 22 | Saltpetre's | South suburbs |
| 23 | The Storm Drains | runs under the East |
| 24 | The Pirate Nest | wherever the Radio is tonight |
| 25 | The Dead Stadium | derelict Olympic coast |
| 26 | The Rooftop Farms | East, across a dozen linked towers |
| 31 | The Drowned Marina | the old coast, half in the sea |
| 32 | The Cold Vault | Center, deep under a Vivid tower |
| 33 | The Cable Run | Center, strung between the tallest towers |
| 34 | The Dead Airport | the far South edge, where the city ran out |
| 35 | The Kennel | North, the Talos precinct |
| 36 | The Hive | West, one tower holding forty thousand people |
| 41 | The Cistern | under the Center, older than the city above |
| 42 | The Dead Mall | North suburbs |
| 43 | The Relay | Center, the hill above the city |
| 44 | The Incinerator | South industrial zone |
| 45 | The Wild Garden | Center, the old royal grounds gone feral |
| 46 | The Container Stacks | the port, the working coast |
| 51 | The Memory Ward | North, a Vivid clinic that only takes referrals |
| 52 | The Rooftop Club | Center, the top of a Vivid tower |
| 53 | The Marble Fields | Center, the old cemetery |
| 54 | The Museum | Center, the marble halls |
| 55 | The Substation | East, the corner of the grid |
| 56 | The Tram Graveyard | South, the old depot |
| 61 | The Bell Tower | South, the crumbling church |
| 62 | The Showroom | Center, the flagship |
| 63 | The Fish Market | the coast, before dawn |
| 64 | The Sky Bridge | Center, between the corporate towers |
| 65 | The Aqueduct | the North edge, running into the hills |
| 66 | The Signal Forest | the highest hill above Athens |
11. The Acropolis Tower
A two-hundred-floor skyscraper built around the preserved ruins of the ancient Parthenon, which sits under a floodlit glass dome at the fiftieth floor. Above the dome it's mostly abandoned corporate offices, gutted and empty, the elevators locked and the stairwells long spirals of uninterrupted dark. By floor 190 the wind screams through broken windows hard enough to knock a Hero off their feet. The rooftop is a flat concrete expanse of rusted antenna arrays and dead satellite dishes, with a clear line of sight across all five sectors.
The Score: The best launch site, lookout, and vantage in Athens. A view the whole city can see and be seen from. Squatter families hide on the upper floors, some of them carrying skills the Crew needs, if you don't scare the kids.
In the Way: Talos patrols the lower floors on routine sweeps. The stairwell blocks with debris around 150, forcing a climb through an open elevator shaft. Vivid-funded heritage alarms ring the Parthenon dome and don't call Talos so much as summon them.
The Twist: Everything worth doing up here happens two hundred metres above the ground, in the wind, hauling something heavy, on wheels. When Talos finally commits, it doesn't send patrols. It airlifts a war mecha onto the roof.
12. Neo Mall Underground
Below twelve floors of blinding chrome and artificial sunlight, the world flips inside out. The tunnels are a neon-lit labyrinth: pulsing LED strips throwing wild shadows over graffiti-bombed walls, industrial fans strobing overhead, conveyor belts snaking through like metal serpents carrying sealed cargo in transparent tubes. Steam vents hiss in rhythm, massive gears grind in the shadows, and the whole place buzzes with static and machinery crammed into every corridor. It feels alive, and hostile.
The Score: Talos operations that never see daylight: a command centre packed with Yellow Dust experiment data, holding cells, the drug supply itself. The way down is an employee-only door behind the Neo Mall restrooms.
In the Way: Talos in chrome exosuits patrol in slow arcs, some gliding on hoverboards, some working robotic arms that reach from the walls. Yellow Dust Enhanced officers hit +1 to Attack and Defense. Energy fields, camera nets, holographic decoys, and mechanical arms fill the gaps.
The Twist: No Time-Out down here, the pressure never lets up. The command centre has a dead-man data wipe and, if things go truly sideways, enough charge to split the Neo Mall clean in half.
13. The Debt Tower
A ninety-storey Vivid monolith that runs on other people's debt, the poor stacked in the lower floors as collateral, the servers that own them humming in a cooled vault near the top. Mirror-glass outside, prison inside: sealed corridors, biometric doors, a Talos garrison on permanent station. The higher you climb the emptier and colder it gets, the residential smell of cooking and damp giving way to marble, silence, and server-room ozone. From the roof the whole West sprawls out beneath you, and it's a two-hundred-metre drop back down to it.
The Score: The debt of a million people sits on one air-gapped server near the summit. Wipe it and they all walk free tonight. Short of that, the tower is stuffed with Vivid Cash, seized goods, and the records of every family they've squeezed. Somewhere in the lower floors, the people the Crew came to get out.
In the Way: A garrison, not a patrol. Biometric locks on every floor, camera nets, and elevators that won't move without a clearance the Crew doesn't have. The building knows who belongs and who doesn't, and it wakes floor by floor, sealing behind you as you climb.
The Twist: Getting in is the easy half. The server is near the top and the only way anyone's ever left in a hurry is straight down the glass, on wheels, with the whole tower awake and two hundred metres of nothing under the deck. Every second inside, the exits get narrower.
14. The Vivid Chemical Warehouse
At the end of a dead-end road in a maze of identical grey buildings, given away only by the Vivid logo on the roll-up doors and the surveillance drones circling in slow, regular sweeps. Inside it's a cathedral of industrial shelving, steel racks thirty metres to the ceiling stacked with labelled drums and sealed crates, fluorescent strips flickering over pools of shadow between the aisles. An upper catwalk runs to a glass-walled office overlooking the floor. The air is cold, chemical-sharp, and roars with ventilation fans the size of car wheels.
The Score: Every precursor, pigment, and solvent in the South, all coded in Vivid's internal system. The office terminal holds the inventory map. Whatever the Crew came for is in here, buried among thousands of identical drums.
In the Way: A perimeter fence with sensor wire and one keycard gate. An internal swarm of fist-sized paint-sensor drones. A lone night-shift worker who might be one of us. Trip anything and Talos Dogs converge within minutes.
The Twist: The labels are numbers, not names, and one wrong drum is a solvent that eats through metal and out the bottom of the crate a block later. The forklift is the easy way out and the loudest thing in the building.
15. The Central Interchange
A cathedral of transit where four metro lines and a dozen tram routes tangle together over six stacked levels, from deep platforms carved into old bedrock to elevated tracks ten storeys up on concrete pillars. At rush hour a couple of hundred thousand bodies pour through an hour; at 3am it's a hollow echo of flickering strip lights, shuttered kiosks, and escalators nobody switched off. Every surface is layered decades deep in tags Talos buffs and crews replace by morning. Steel catwalks thread between the platforms, power cables sagging overhead, and the trains never fully stop, they slow, breathe, and roll on.
The Score: The biggest set of moving canvases in Athens and a smuggling road Talos watches but can't be bothered to search. Sparky drives the evening shift and moves wire, nozzles, fuse, and small contraband in the gaps behind her cabin. Down in the service levels: decades of lost property, forgotten storerooms, and a black market that opens after the last train.
In the Way: Platform cameras on every level, electrified rails, Talos Dogs working the concourse and scanning faces in the crowd, and surveillance drones that pace a train's exact speed down the open stretches. A thirty-second black tunnel between two stations with no warning and no lights.
The Twist: Boarding a smuggler's car means catching a train already pulling out, on wheels, up a pillar, along a catwalk, at speed. Sparky pays in art, not Cash: tag her whole car, both sides, beautifully, before the terminal, and she slows just enough to let you live. Miss the terminal and you're painting at a hundred k an hour into a tunnel.
16. The Salvage Yard
A full city block hemmed in by apartment towers on three sides and an oily drainage canal on the fourth. Concrete walls three metres high, topped with rusted sensor wire that sparks in the night air. Inside it's a graveyard: mountains of crushed vehicles stacked five high, corridors of seized contraband in locked cages, shipping containers with faded evidence tags, open lots of uncatalogued scrap. Floodlights on tall poles carve hard shadows between the junk piles, leaving deep pockets of black the light never reaches. One narrow access road winds to a processing building at the centre. Everything else is a maze.
The Score: Fifteen years of confiscated everything: pre-ban fireworks in a HAZMAT-PYRO cage, impounded gear, a buried stash somebody hid during a sweep and never recovered. Thanasis the scrap artist lives in here, invisible, hand-rolling perfect metalwork for anyone who earns it.
In the Way: A single Talos patrol walks the access road every fifteen minutes with a flashlight and never goes into the piles, because who'd be stupid enough to rob an impound yard. A scarred junkyard dog that rules the maze and howls the whole neighbourhood awake if you spook it.
The Twist: The junk shifts. Dig wrong and a scrap avalanche carries across the whole yard, or a degraded rocket in a buried crate goes off and lights up the East sector like a flare. The canal is the best exit and the worst place to drop a crate.
21. The Flea Market
A sprawl of stalls and tarpaulins that colonised the concrete underbelly of a motorway overpass and never left, spilling for blocks through the pillars in a maze of hanging fabric, strung bulbs, and the smell of grilled meat and spray solvent. By day it's antiques, knock-off tech, and lost tourists; by night the tarps come down over the real trade. Fences, forgers, and paint-cooks work by torchlight, everyone knows everyone, and a stranger's face travels the length of the market before they've finished their first souvlaki.
The Score: Anything money can buy and most things it can't: bootleg gear, banned pigment, a fence for hot goods, a forger for a Vivid keycard, cans of dubious origin at 1$ each. The best rumours in the city change hands here first. If it fell off a Talos truck, it's on a table somewhere in the dark.
In the Way: No walls and no locks, which is the trick, everyone is a lookout and gossip moves faster than a Dog. Plainclothes Talos informants drift the stalls cataloguing faces, and one loud mistake turns a thousand neutral vendors into a wall of witnesses. Crime+Streetwise to move without lighting up.
The Twist: The market protects its own and sells out anyone it doesn't know. Reputation is the currency here. Spend it well and doors open; burn it and the whole maze closes around the Crew in seconds, every alley suddenly a dead end lined with people who never saw a thing.
22. Saltpetre's
A cramped cleaning-supply shop wedged between a shuttered bakery and a phone-repair kiosk, near the old technical school. The sign reads "Pavlidis Cleaning Solutions" in letters so faded they're nearly gone. Inside it smells of bleach and old paper, shelves of detergent and mop heads and industrial gloves, a cat asleep on the counter. Behind the register, Nikos reads a chemistry textbook older than most of the Crew. Business is terrible. He does not care. He's been waiting fifteen years for someone to walk in serious.
The Score: Everything the Crew needs to know about chemistry, explosives, and building a firework the old-fashioned way, plus a network of favours and half-remembered leads from before the ban. Nikos as a Supporting Character: +1 to anything chemical.
In the Way: Nothing but obscurity, which is the best cover there is. The danger isn't getting in, it's that once Nikos starts talking he does not stop, and the wrong ears passing the open door might catch a word about saltpetre they weren't meant to.
The Twist: Nikos won't just hand over a list, he talks, draws formulas on napkins, pulls out notebooks of shell diagrams. The Crew has to piece the actual shopping list out of a retired teacher's joy, and every item on it lives somewhere far more dangerous than this shop.
23. The Storm Drains
A hand-built flood network the city forgot it had, brick tunnels tall enough to ride through, branching for kilometres beneath the East under a slick of black water and decades of runoff. Torchlight throws the arched ceilings into a cathedral of dripping shadow; the only sounds are water, the distant grind of the metro overhead, and things moving that you decide not to think about. Smugglers, squatters, and lost crews have marked the junctions with tags that double as a map, if you can read them.
The Score: A silent road under half the city that no camera watches, connecting the East blocks to the canal, the market, and the sea. Smugglers run the route nightly. Whatever Vivid keeps trying to seal off down here, they want it drowned badly enough to flood four blocks to do it.
In the Way: The dark, the water, and getting lost, which down here kills more people than Talos ever has. No patrols, because Talos won't come down without a reason. Give them one, a light, a noise, a flood alarm, and they seal the exits from above and let the water do the rest.
The Twist: The first rain turns the whole network into a flushing pipe with no warning, a wall of water that fills a tunnel floor to ceiling in under a minute. The tags that map the junctions also mark the high ground. Read them wrong and the road home becomes the place you drown.
24. The Pirate Nest
The Underground Radio doesn't have an address, it has a last known location. Tonight it's a gutted rooftop water tank wired to a car battery, a shopping trolley of broadcast gear, and an antenna lashed to a lightning rod. Blankets on the floor, a wall of cassette tapes going back forty years, a hot plate, and whoever's on the mic that week hunched over a deck older than the ban. It moves every few nights, one step ahead of the triangulation vans, and the whole city's soul runs through it.
The Score: The nerve centre of the entire scene: every rumour, every job, every missing writer and Talos patrol route passes through here first. Get on the DJ's good side and the Radio narrates the Crew's night to a couple of hundred million people, turning a Score into a legend live. The archive alone, forty years of pirate broadcasts, is worth killing for.
In the Way: Paranoia, mostly, and it's earned. The location is a secret guarded by a chain of favours; ask the wrong person and the Crew will never find it. Talos triangulation vans crawl the rooftops every night hunting the signal, and the moment the Crew's business puts a fix on the transmitter, everyone in the nest has ninety seconds to vanish.
The Twist: Broadcasting is a beacon. The longer the Radio stays on air from one spot, the tighter Talos closes in, so every visit is a countdown. Bring Heat with you and the Crew doesn't just blow its own Score, it burns the one thing holding the whole scene together, and the city goes quiet.
25. The Dead Stadium
A cluster of colossal venues built for games two decades gone and abandoned within a year, now a concrete wilderness on the city's edge, all rusted roofing, cracked pools full of black rainwater, and grandstands reclaimed by weeds and rival crews. The main arena is a skater's cathedral: kilometres of banked concrete, empty channels, and impossible transitions, every inch of it painted, the biggest open-air gallery in Athens. It's neutral ground, barely, where crews that hate each other come to ride, deal, and settle scores.
The Score: Freedom, mostly, the one place in the city with no cameras, no Vivid, and no Talos, held that way by an uneasy truce between every crew in Athens. Underground races and paint battles run here nightly. It's also where the old legends are buried in paint, murals going back to the founding writers, some worth more than a whole sector.
In the Way: No Talos, which is the point and the danger. The law here is crew politics, and it's brutal. Every faction claims a section, every truce is one insult from collapse, and an outsider who tags the wrong wall or wins the wrong race can turn the whole stadium hostile in a heartbeat. Rival lookouts watch every entrance.
The Twist: The truce is the only thing keeping Talos out, and it's held together with spit and reputation. Bring a real fight inside, or lead Talos to the one place the whole scene calls sanctuary, and the Crew won't just make enemies, they'll be remembered as the ones who got the Dead Stadium buffed forever.
26. The Rooftop Farms
Somewhere in the hungry years the East stopped waiting for Vivid to feed it and grew its own food in the sky. Now a dozen tower roofs are stitched together with plank bridges and rope lines into one green sprawl of greenhouses, planters made from bathtubs and oil drums, and vines that spill fifty floors down the concrete. It smells of soil and tomatoes and woodsmoke, the light comes from strung bulbs and gaps in patched glass, and chickens wander the walkways like they own the place. Everyone up here knows everyone, and the whole terrace tilts and creaks in a strong wind.
The Score: Food, shelter, and a friendly roof in a sector Vivid pretends is empty. The farmers trade in produce and favours, hide people without a second thought, and keep a rope-and-pulley network that moves goods roof to roof faster than any street. Rare botanicals grow up here that a chemist would kill for.
In the Way: No Talos, they don't climb this high for vegetables, and the community itself is the wall: a hundred watchful neighbours who spot a stranger the moment they clear the parapet. The bridges are the danger, half-rotten, unrailed, and never built to be run across at speed.
The Twist: The whole thing runs on one tapped water main and one illegal power spur. Cut, crush, or expose either in a chase and the Crew doesn't just lose the roof, they starve a neighbourhood that took them in, and the East has a long memory for that.
31. The Drowned Marina
A luxury marina from before the water came up, now a graveyard of tilted yachts and flooded promenades where the tide moves through what used to be a shopping arcade. At low water you can ride the cracked boardwalks and the decks of grounded boats; at high water half of it vanishes and the routes change completely. Barnacles climb the designer railings, fish school through drowned boutiques, and gulls nest in the crow's nests of dead millionaires' toys. It's silent, beautiful, and slowly eating itself.
The Score: Smugglers land here because no road reaches it and no camera survives the salt. The boats still hold things nobody came back for: safes, gear, the odd sealed cabin untouched since the water rose. It's the quietest way in or out of the city by sea, if you can read the tide.
In the Way: The water itself, cold, unpredictable, and full of snags waiting under the surface. Talos patrols the landward edge lazily by boat, betting the sea does their job for them. Rival smuggler crews claim their own moorings and don't share.
The Twist: The tide is the whole clock. A route that's solid ground now is three metres under in a few hours, and the Crew that doesn't watch the water gets cut off on a sinking deck with the way home already drowned behind them.
32. The Cold Vault
Below the lobby, past a lift that only goes down, the air drops twenty degrees and the light turns a flat blue-white. This is where Vivid keeps its brain: aisle after aisle of server racks in a refrigerated hall, fans roaring loud enough to swallow a scream, breath fogging, frost on the cable trays. The floor is a raised grid over a tangle of cooling pipes, every rack sheds heat-haze and blinking light, and the cold gets into a Hero's hands until the fingers stop working right. It hums like a living thing because, in every way that matters to the city, it is one.
The Score: Everything Vivid knows lives here: debt records, informant lists, camera archives, the lottery's rigged draw, the truth about a dozen "accidents." Wipe a rack and a lie dies. Copy one and the Crew owns a corporation. It's the single most valuable room in Athens and the coldest.
In the Way: Biometric cages around the core racks, motion sensors tuned to body heat that a chilled room makes tricky, and a Talos detail that rotates fast because nobody can stand the cold for long. Trip the fire system and it floods the hall with suppressant gas that drops a human in a minute.
The Twist: The cold is on the Crew's side and against them both. Linger and hands stiffen, breath fogs the sensors, the body slows. But the servers need that cold to live, so sabotage the cooling and the whole vault starts cooking itself, alarms screaming, racks failing, a countdown to a meltdown that would take the block's power with it.
33. The Cable Run
Vivid execs don't touch the street. They ride glass gondolas on a cable-car network slung two hundred metres up between the corporate towers, and where the passengers glide, a maintenance line runs alongside: a bare steel catwalk and a service cable, out in the open sky. Wind screams through the cables, the gondolas hum past close enough to touch, and the whole city is a circuit board of light far below. There is nothing up here but steel, air, and a very long way down.
The Score: The fastest route across the Center that never touches a Talos checkpoint, if the Crew is brave or stupid enough to use it. The gondolas carry execs, sealed cargo, and the occasional VIP prisoner. Board one mid-run and you're inside the corporate world with no lobby, no scan, and no way anyone expected you.
In the Way: The height is the guard, and it's enough. The gondolas are armoured and lock from inside; the maintenance line is exposed to wind that gusts hard enough to peel a rider off. Camera drones pace the cars, and a Talos response team can seal both towers and leave the Crew stranded on the wire.
The Twist: The cable is always moving and never stops for anyone. Timing a jump from the catwalk to a passing gondola, or from one car to the next, is a stunt over a two-hundred-metre drop with the wind voting against you. Miss, and there is no market stall to crash into down there. Just the Center, coming up fast.
34. The Dead Airport
A vast abandoned airport the size of a small town, shut when the sky routes moved and never touched since. The terminal is a cathedral of dust and slanted light through a collapsed roof, check-in desks furred with grime, a departures board frozen on flights that never left. Beyond it the runways stretch to the horizon, cracked, weed-split, and dead straight, the only truly open ground for kilometres. Aircraft sit where they were parked, hollow and stripped, and the wind moves through the whole thing like breath through a ribcage.
The Score: Open space, which the sprawl never gives you: a runway to hit real speed on wheels, empty hangars to build and test anything loud, a terminal big enough to hide an army. Crews come here to race, to practise, and to do the things too big to do anywhere with neighbours. Whatever got left in the bonded warehouses is still sealed.
In the Way: Distance, mostly, it's a long way from anywhere and Talos rarely bothers. But the openness cuts both ways: there's no cover on a runway, and a patrol that does come sees you from a kilometre off. Scavenger crews hold the hangars and defend their salvage.
The Twist: Sound carries forever across flat empty ground, and so does light. Anything loud enough to be worth doing out here, a race, an engine, a firework test, can be seen and heard from the whole South, and once Talos decides to come, there is nowhere on a runway to hide and nothing but distance between the Crew and the exits.
35. The Kennel
Where the Dogs go to charge. A fortified Talos precinct built like a bunker, its yard racked with chrome exosuits standing dormant in charging cradles, powered down and eyeless, waiting. Inside it's harsh strip light, gun-metal corridors, the smell of ozone and machine oil, and the low collective hum of a hundred suits drinking power. There are cells, an armoury, a control room watching every feed in the sector, and the quiet certainty of a place that has never once been robbed.
The Score: The nerve centre of the whole sector's enforcement: patrol schedules, the confiscated-goods vault, the armoury, and the servers that tell every Dog where to be. Reach the control room and the Crew can blind a sector for a night. The trophy wall alone holds a decade of stolen crew colours.
In the Way: It's a police station full of police, alert, armed, and home-turf confident. Active Dogs patrol the halls; dormant ones stand in the yard, and the horror is that any of them can wake. Lockdown seals the building into a killbox and calls every unit in the North home.
The Twist: The charging suits are empty now. They do not have to stay that way. Make enough noise, trip the wrong alarm, or take too long, and the yard full of dormant chrome starts powering up one cradle at a time, a hundred Dogs opening their eyes at once, and the Crew is standing in the middle of them.
36. The Hive
A single Vivid housing megablock so vast it has its own weather, forty thousand people stacked in identical cells around a hollow core that drops the full height of the building. Washing lines and tapped cables web the void, the noise never stops, and the corridors run for kilometres in a grid nobody outside could navigate. Every wall is tagged, every stairwell is somebody's living room, and the whole place is a vertical neighbourhood that Vivid built to store people and forgot to switch off. Get lost in here and you might not come out.
The Score: Forty thousand people who owe Vivid everything and love it for nothing: allies, hiding places, and a crowd to vanish into on every floor. Anything can be hidden in a building this big. The Crew can lose any tail in the corridors, if they know them, and half the scene's writers grew up here.
In the Way: Vivid runs it by camera and rent-enforcer, not foot patrol, they don't dare send Dogs deep inside where the corridors turn and the residents close ranks. The maze itself is the guard: no map, endless identical halls, and locals who help or hinder depending entirely on the Crew's reputation.
The Twist: The hollow core runs the whole height of the tower, and everything the Crew does echoes up and down it for forty floors. The residents can be the Crew's greatest asset or turn the whole Hive against them in an hour of whispered word, and a crowd this size, once it moves, moves like water and cannot be stopped by anyone, Crew or Talos.
41. The Cistern
Long before Vivid, before the metro, someone carved a vast underground reservoir beneath the Center, a forest of stone columns holding up a low vaulted roof over black, still water. Torchlight throws the pillars into infinity in every direction; the water is waist-deep, ice cold, and mirror-flat until a footstep sends ripples racing off into the dark. Sound behaves wrong down here, a whisper carries a hundred metres and a splash carries further. It is beautiful and ancient and absolutely nobody is supposed to know the way in.
The Score: A hidden road under the heart of the city that predates every camera Vivid ever hung. Smugglers and the oldest crews use it to cross the Center unseen; the Historian would trade a year of her life to map it. Things have been hidden between these pillars for centuries, and some of them are still here.
In the Way: The dark and the cold and the sameness, every pillar identical, no landmarks, and a wrong turn that loops you back forever. The water hides drop-offs deep enough to swallow a Hero and their gear. Talos doesn't know it exists, which is the only reason it's still safe.
The Twist: The acoustics are a trap in both directions. The Crew can hear a patrol coming from far off, but a single loud moment, a shout, a splash, a dropped can, rings through the whole cistern and gives away a position that echoes make impossible to pin down, sending everyone, hunter and hunted, blundering through identical stone toward a sound that came from nowhere.
42. The Dead Mall
Before the Neo Mall there was this one, and when the new chrome opened, the old mall simply died where it stood. Three floors of shuttered units around a dry fountain, escalators frozen mid-flight, a glass atrium roof green with algae letting down a sickly underwater light. Mannequins still pose in some windows; a food court sits laid for a lunch rush that ended a decade ago. Weeds push through the tiles, water drips somewhere endlessly, and the whole place has the stillness of a held breath.
The Score: Cheap sprawling cover in a sector Vivid abandoned: squats, rehearsal spaces, and a paint-cook or two working the old stockrooms. The units still hold forgotten inventory behind their shutters. Crews use the atrium for battles and the frozen escalators for lines nobody else has ridden.
In the Way: Neglect, not security, Talos doesn't waste patrols on a corpse. The dangers are the building itself: rotten floors, that heavy algae-choked glass roof, live wiring in flooded corners, and the squatters and cooks who guard their own patches and don't love visitors.
The Twist: The atrium roof is a hundred tonnes of old glass held up by rusted steel, and it has been waiting years for a reason to come down. A hard enough impact, a firework, a fight that reaches the wrong beam, and the whole ceiling lets go at once in a cascade of glass over anyone standing under it. Which, in a mall, is everyone.
43. The Relay
The tallest natural point in the Center, a steep rock hill crowned with Vivid's primary broadcast mast, blinking red against the smog. A single funicular runs to the top for technicians; everyone else takes the goat paths that switchback up through scrub and old ruins. At the summit the mast towers over a cluster of transmitter huts and dish arrays, the wind never stops, and the entire city unrolls below in a carpet of light you could read a map by. Every screen and speaker in the Center gets its signal from up here.
The Score: Control of the mast is control of what the Center sees and hears. Hijack it and two hundred million people watch whatever the Crew wants for as long as they hold it. The huts hold broadcast gear the Radio dreams about, and the summit is the best vantage and launch point in the city after the Acropolis Tower.
In the Way: The climb is the first wall, exposed, steep, and watched from the summit. A permanent technical crew and a light Talos guard hold the top, and the funicular can be locked from above, stranding anyone on the paths. Camera drones circle the mast on a fixed patrol.
The Twist: The moment the Crew touches the signal, every screen in the Center carries the takeover live, which means the whole city knows exactly where they are the instant it works. Vivid scrambles everything it has to the hill, the funicular becomes a delivery service for Dogs, and the only way down is on foot, on wheels, off a hill in the dark with the entire Center watching.
44. The Incinerator
Where the city burns what it wants gone. A cavernous waste plant of conveyor belts, sorting lines, and a furnace hall dominated by three enormous kilns that glow through their inspection ports and push the air to a shimmer. Everything is grey with ash, the noise is a constant grinding roar, and grabbers on overhead rails swing loads of refuse through the dark toward the fire. Catwalks thread above the pits; the heat rises in waves; and things arrive here that were never meant to be found again.
The Score: Vivid destroys evidence here, so evidence is exactly what's passing through: shredded records half-burned, "disappeared" goods, whole truckloads of things somebody wanted gone. Intercept a load before it hits the kiln and the Crew holds a secret worth a Score. The plant also runs a chunk of the South's power off its furnaces.
In the Way: The machinery is more dangerous than any guard: grabbers that don't stop for a body, conveyor belts feeding the fire, catwalks slick with ash over a drop into the pit. A skeleton night crew and a bored Talos checkpoint at the gate assume the plant guards itself. It mostly does.
The Twist: Everything in here moves toward the fire on a schedule that doesn't care about the Crew. A fight, a chase, or a fumble near the belts means the furnace is always right there, and whatever the Crew came to save, or whoever, can be one shove or one slip from going into the kiln with the rest of the day's rubbish.
45. The Wild Garden
A grand botanical garden the city stopped tending, now a dense green wilderness in the middle of the concrete, palms and creepers and thorn choking the old gravel paths, a collapsed glasshouse full of things that escaped their pots. Marble busts of forgotten worthies watch from the undergrowth, a dry ornamental lake holds a jungle of its own, and the canopy is thick enough that the towers vanish and the city's roar drops to a hush. Parrots, descended from somebody's pets, scream in the branches. It is the one place in the Center that feels like it forgot Vivid exists.
The Score: Rare plants a chemist or a healer would trade serious Cash for, and a green blind spot right in the Center where cameras choke on leaves and heat-haze. Lovers, dealers, and crews meet in the deep growth where nobody's feed reaches. Baba Yorgos keeps hives somewhere in here that produce a very particular honey.
In the Way: The growth itself, so thick a Hero can lose a friend three metres away, and full of thorns, hidden drops into the old lake, and paths that dead-end in walls of green. Vivid's cameras ring the perimeter but can't see in. The parrots raise an unholy racket at anything that moves wrong.
The Twist: The garden hides everyone equally, which means the Crew is never the only thing moving in the green. A patrol, a rival, a predator of some kind can be a body's length away and invisible, and the birds that scream at intruders scream at the Crew too, painting their position across the canopy for anything that's learned to listen.
46. The Container Stacks
The one part of the coast still alive, a container port where towers of steel boxes stack twelve high in a grid that shifts every day as the cranes rearrange it. Between the stacks run canyons of corrugated metal, some dead ends, some through-routes, all changing. Gantry cranes the size of buildings roll on rails overhead, swinging forty-tonne boxes through the floodlit dark; the ground trembles; horns blare; and somewhere in the grid is exactly one container out of thousands that the Crew actually wants.
The Score: Everything that enters or leaves Athens by sea passes through here, which means contraband, banned pigment, smuggled gear, and the occasional misfiled container of something Vivid would rather nobody opened. Find the right box in the stack and the whole job's inside it. The dockworkers see everything and sell what they know.
In the Way: Port security, camera towers, and roaming Talos, plus the cranes themselves, which reshape the maze without warning and will drop a container on anything under them without ever knowing it was there. The stacks are a vertical climb, and the metal booms like a drum under a running foot.
The Twist: The grid is never still. A route the Crew mapped an hour ago is walled off or gone, the box they're after gets lifted and moved mid-heist, and a chase through the canyons means running under live cranes that swing tonnes of steel through the exact space a Hero needs to cross. The port doesn't stop for anyone, and it can bury a Crew by accident.
51. The Memory Ward
A calm, clean, softly-lit medical facility that is the most frightening building in the city, because this is where the machines that eat memories do their work. Pastel corridors, gentle piped music, staff in spotless white, and behind each numbered door a reclined chair and a humming device wired to somebody who walked in whole. The people who leave don't remember why they came, or the Crew, or themselves. It smells of antiseptic and something underneath it that the mind refuses to name. Nothing about it looks like a prison, which is the worst part.
The Score: This is where the disappeared go: the vanished conductor, the scooped writers, anyone who saw too much. Somewhere in these rooms are people the Crew came to save, and the records of what was taken from them. Destroy the machines and the process itself dies for a while. Reach the archive and stolen memories might, just might, come back.
In the Way: Quiet, total, and clinical: keycard doors, sedative fog on demand, and a Talos detail that never raises its voice. The horror is the tempo, everything here is unhurried, and the longer the Crew stays the more the calm gets into their heads. Struggle and the staff simply schedule you a chair.
The Twist: The machine works on anyone. Get caught, get strapped in, and a Hero can lose the whole Score, the Crew, the reason they came, walking out as blank as the people they meant to rescue. And the people already wired in can't just be unplugged safely, freeing them means finishing or breaking a process mid-cycle, with their memories in the balance either way.
52. The Rooftop Club
Sixty floors up, an infinity pool spills toward a glass edge with nothing beyond it but the glittering Center and the drop. This is where Vivid's people play: a members-only sky club of white loungers, a mirrored bar, DJ decks, and beautiful people who have never once looked down at the city that funds them. Music thumps, cocktails glow, security in nice suits smiles with dead eyes, and the whole floor is a jewel box of soft light and hard exclusivity balanced on top of two hundred metres of nothing.
The Score: The execs relax here, which means they talk here: deals, secrets, gossip, and the passwords and habits of everyone who runs the sector, all loose in the open over free champagne. A face in the crowd hears everything. The club's own systems, unlocked and trusting up here, reach deep into the tower below.
In the Way: Exclusivity is the wall, you don't get up here without belonging, or seeming to. Inside, polished private security clocks anyone who moves wrong, and one wrong note brings a lockdown that traps the Crew sixty floors up with no crowd to hide in. Everyone here knows everyone, and the Crew knows no one.
The Twist: The only ways off a sky club are the guarded lift, or the edge. Blow the cover and the Crew is cornered at the top of a tower with a two-hundred-metre drop as the sole alternative to capture, over a pool that pours off into open air, in front of a crowd of the exact people who'll fund the manhunt. Getting up was easy. Down is the stunt.
53. The Marble Fields
The city's grand old cemetery, an entire district of the dead, marble tombs and weeping statues and cypress avenues walled off from the living sprawl around it. Moonlight and a few failing lamps turn the white marble blue; the paths run in a maze between mausoleums the size of small houses; and it is, at night, the single quietest place in the whole Center. Ivy swallows the older graves, angels lose their faces to weather, and the only sound is wind in the cypresses and, sometimes, someone who really doesn't want to be seen.
The Score: Silence and privacy in the middle of the loudest city on earth, which is worth a fortune to the right people: meetings nobody can overhear, dead drops in dead men's tombs, and a few mausoleums quietly repurposed as vaults and hideouts. The oldest crews bury their own legends here, in paint and otherwise. A body isn't the only thing hidden in a crypt.
In the Way: A caretaker, a wall, and a superstition Talos shares with everyone else, they patrol the gates but don't love walking the rows after dark. The maze of identical marble is its own guard, easy to lose a tail in and just as easy to lose yourself. Whoever came here for privacy did not come to be interrupted.
The Twist: Everyone in the cemetery came for the same quiet the Crew did, and none of them want witnesses. A dead drop, a meeting, a hidden vault, the Crew can stumble into someone else's secret in the dark and turn a silent night into a very personal problem, with no crowd, no cameras, and no one who'll ever admit anybody was here at all.
54. The Museum
A grand old museum with a modern Vivid wing bolted onto its neoclassical bones, where antiquities share the building with a very different collection: street art, cut whole from the walls it was painted on and mounted under glass as "preserved heritage." By day it's tour groups and climate control; by night it's a hushed maze of galleries, red laser grids over the marble, and pieces of the scene's own history hanging in cages behind alarmed glass. The old wing creaks and echoes; the new wing hums with security; and the irony of the place is thick enough to taste.
The Score: A whole gallery of stolen walls, the buffed legends and cut-out masterpieces Vivid calls curation, waiting to be liberated or, better, exposed. Swap the plaques back to the artists' names and livestream it and the theft becomes the story. The antiquities wing holds treasures too, if the Crew is feeling greedy.
In the Way: Laser grids, pressure plates, camera nets, and a night guard who takes it seriously, the new wing is genuinely hard. The old wing is softer but full of priceless fragile things that break if a chase goes through them. Trip the wrong case and shutters seal the galleries one by one.
The Twist: The cut-out street pieces are fragile, irreplaceable, and the whole point, which means the Crew has to move the scene's own history out through a building designed to stop exactly that, without cracking a single piece. A firework, a fight, a fall in the wrong gallery, and the Crew doesn't rescue the art, they finish the job Vivid started and buff a legend forever.
55. The Substation
A fenced compound of transformers, switchgear, and thick humming cable that feeds power to a quarter of the East, warning signs in three languages and a skull on every one. Inside the fence it's a forest of ceramic insulators and steel gantries, everything live, everything lethal, the air itself buzzing and smelling of hot metal and ozone. A low control building sits at the centre; overhead, the cables sag between towers thick as a wrist. Touch the wrong thing here and there's no Grit roll, just a flash and a smell.
The Score: This one building decides whether the East has lights, cameras, and Talos comms, or doesn't. Kill it right and a whole sector goes dark on the Crew's schedule, blinding Vivid for a rooftop rave, a heist, a getaway. Solder practically lives here keeping the neighbourhood's illegal spurs alive, and he knows every switch that matters.
In the Way: The danger is the electricity, thousands of volts that don't care who you are, no cover, no second chances, and one wrong handhold ends a Hero permanently. Beyond that: a fence, a couple of cameras, and a Vivid engineer on call, because who would be insane enough to break into a substation.
The Twist: Cutting the power is easy. Cutting it without frying yourself, and without the surge or the sabotage sparking a fire or a cascade that blacks out far more than intended, is the real trick. And the moment the East goes dark, Vivid knows precisely which building did it and sends a crew straight to the one place the Crew is still standing, in the dark, surrounded by live wire.
56. The Tram Graveyard
Where retired trams go to rust. A sprawling open depot of dead-end sidings packed with decommissioned rolling stock, decades of trams and metro cars lined up in long silent rows, stripped, tagged, and slowly greening over. Grass grows between the rails, windows are gone or crazed, and each carriage is somebody's canvas, somebody's shelter, or somebody's hiding place. Old Tasos still comes here to sit in his favourite dead tram. The overhead lines are down, the power is off, and the whole yard is a museum nobody curates.
The Score: A maze of metal rooms on rails: squats, stash spots, workshops, and one specific carriage that always seems to hold what the Crew's after. The scene stores things in the dead cars that can't sit in a flat. Crews meet here, and a few of the trams still roll if you can free the brakes and find a slope.
In the Way: Barely watched, Talos wrote it off years ago, so the guard is the terrain: rusted metal that gives way, glass underfoot, and the squatters and crews who've claimed carriages and defend them. It's easy to get turned around in identical rows of dead trams and lose which siding the exit's on.
The Twist: The rails still run downhill to the mainline, and the brakes on a fifty-year-old tram are a suggestion. A chase or a fight that knocks one loose sends tonnes of dead carriage rolling silently down the grade, gathering speed with no driver and no working brakes, straight toward whatever, and whoever, is standing on the tracks below.
61. The Bell Tower
A half-abandoned old church with a bell tower that leans over the South like a watchman, its stone weathered, its bell long silent, its congregation down to a handful and one stubborn priest. Inside it's candle smoke and cold stone, saints faded on the walls, a crypt below and a dizzying wooden stair spiralling up the tower to a belfry with a view across three sectors. Father Dimitri shelters the lost here and hides more than he admits under the altar. It is sanctuary, in every sense, and the one roof in the South that Talos still hesitates to kick in.
The Score: Sanctuary nobody thinks to search: a safe house, a hiding place for people and gear, and a bell tower that's the best lookout in the South. Father Dimitri knows every soul in the neighbourhood and hides runaways as a matter of faith. The crypt holds things stored for safekeeping going back generations.
In the Way: Not locks but reluctance, Talos still flinches at storming a church, and the neighbourhood would riot if they did. The priest himself is the gatekeeper, and his price is good behaviour and a lot of disapproval. The tower stair is a rotten wooden death-trap in a hurry.
The Twist: The sanctuary only holds as long as the Crew respects it. Bring a fight through the doors, or lead Talos to the one place the South trusts, and the Crew doesn't just lose the safe house, they burn the neighbourhood's faith and give the Dogs the excuse they've wanted to stop hesitating at church doors forever. And that bell, if rung, wakes the entire sector.
62. The Showroom
Vivid's flagship store, a five-storey cube of seamless glass on the Center's brightest corner, lit up like a lantern so the whole city can see how the other half lives. Inside it's white space and hovering product, impossibly clean, staff gliding in matching uniforms, everything for sale and nothing with a price tag. Glass stairs and glass floors and glass walls make the whole building a single transparent stage, which is the point: to be seen. There is not one shadow in the entire building, and that is exactly the problem.
The Score: The newest Vivid tech before it hits the streets, prototype gear, unreleased kit, the mag-wheels and drones and toys the Crew can't get any other way. And a target too tempting to resist: the most public building in the Center, whose humiliation would play out live on the very screens Vivid uses to sell itself.
In the Way: Total visibility. There's nowhere to hide in a glass box, every camera has a clean line, every guard can see the whole floor, and the Crew is lit like a shop dummy the moment they're inside. Security is polished and fast; lockdown turns the transparent walls into a transparent cage the whole street can watch.
The Twist: The glass is the guard and the getaway both. Everyone outside can see in, which means the Crew's every move is broadcast to the street in real time, terrible for stealth, incredible for a statement. And when it goes loud, the only fast way out of a five-storey glass cube is through the glass, off a wheel, in front of a crowd, turning a robbery into the best-lit show in the Center.
63. The Fish Market
A cavernous wholesale fish market that comes alive at three in the morning and is dead by nine, a wet, loud, freezing hall of ice mountains, gutting tables, and shouting traders under buzzing lights. The floor is a slick of meltwater and scales, forklifts of polystyrene crates weave through the crowd, and the noise, haggling, gulls, hoses, machinery, is a wall of sound thick enough to hide a conversation or a scream. Everyone is soaked, everyone is busy, and nobody has looked up from their catch in twenty years.
The Score: The perfect place to move something in plain sight: contraband packed in ice under the fish, a meeting nobody can overhear, a handoff lost in a crowd that never stops moving. The traders run their own economy and their own smuggling on the side, and a body who knows the market can vanish a package or a person into the pre-dawn chaos.
In the Way: No security to speak of, just a few hundred exhausted workers who'd trample a stranger without malice and a light Talos presence that hates the cold and the smell as much as anyone. The crowd, the wet floor, the forklifts, and the noise are hazard enough. Blend in or get swept along.
The Twist: The whole market lives on one clock: by first light it empties, and the roaring crowd the Crew was hiding in simply evaporates, hoses down the floor, and goes home. Get caught mid-job when the market clears and the Crew is suddenly alone on a wet empty floor with nowhere to hide and the sun coming up, the cover gone as fast as it came.
64. The Sky Bridge
The Center's elite never touch the ground, and the Sky Bridge is how: a network of enclosed glass walkways strung between the corporate towers thirty floors up, climate-controlled, carpeted, and patrolled, a whole second city for people who consider the street beneath them. Ferns in planters, soft light, the hum of clean air, and through the glass on every side a two-hundred-metre drop to the world that pays for it all. It connects everything that matters up here, and it was built on the unshakable assumption that no one who isn't supposed to be here could possibly get in.
The Score: A route straight through the heart of corporate Athens, tower to tower, above every checkpoint, that lets the Crew reach a dozen high-security floors without ever entering through a lobby. The bridges carry execs, couriers, and sealed transfers between buildings. Get onto the network and the whole upper city opens up.
In the Way: Clean, quiet, and relentless: camera coverage on every span, biometric doors at each tower junction, and a polished security force that can seal any segment into a glass tube with the Crew inside. Everyone up here belongs, so a stranger stands out instantly, and there is no crowd and no cover, just glass and a long fall.
The Twist: Each bridge is a sealed tube between two locked towers, which means getting trapped mid-span leaves the Crew nowhere to go but the way they came or through the glass, and through the glass is thirty floors up. The network's greatest strength, that no one gets in, becomes the Crew's greatest problem once they're in and the doors at both ends lock at once.
65. The Aqueduct
An ancient stone aqueduct, arch after arch marching out of the North sprawl and up into the dry hills, so old the city built around it and forgot what it was for. The channel on top still runs a trickle of water along a walkway barely wider than a board, no rail, arches dropping away on both sides, the sprawl on one hand and empty scrub on the other. Down among the pillars are chambers and tunnels where the water was managed, cool and dark and long abandoned. It's the one road that leaves the city without a checkpoint, if you're brave enough to walk a wall in the wind.
The Score: A way out of the North that predates every border Vivid drew, over the hills and gone, used by smugglers, runaways, and anyone the city wants to keep who'd rather leave. The chambers below hide caches and hideouts. High on the channel, the Crew is above every camera and every wall, with a clean line into the country beyond the sprawl.
In the Way: The height and the narrow, no rail, a channel a board wide, a long drop to stone on either side, and a wind off the hills that gusts hard. Talos watches the base lazily and doesn't bother climbing. The real enemy is a misstep, and the exposure of being a lone silhouette on a skyline for anyone below to see.
The Twist: Up on the channel there is no cover and nowhere to go but forward or back, a single-file tightrope high over the North. Meet a patrol, a rival, or a gust at the wrong moment and there's no dodging, no crowd, no market stall, just the Crew, the wind, the drop, and a stone walkway two thousand years old that was never meant to be run across at speed.
66. The Signal Forest
The tallest hill in the whole city, crowned not with trees but with antennas, a forest of steel masts, dishes, and relay towers blinking red across a bare rock summit, where every signal in Athens is born, bounced, and watched. This is the top of everything, the wind screaming, the entire sprawl of two hundred million lives spread out below in a galaxy of light from horizon to horizon. Guy-wires sing in the gale, service ladders vanish up into the dark, and at the very centre stands the master relay, the single point through which the whole city's cameras, comms, and corporate broadcasts flow. Whoever holds this hill holds Athens by the throat.
The Score: The nerve of the entire city. Seize the master relay and the Crew can blind every camera, cut every Talos link, and put anything they want on every screen in Athens at once, a citywide blackout, a citywide broadcast, the biggest statement the scene has ever made, to two hundred million people in one breath. There is no higher stake and no better stage.
In the Way: This is the most defended point in the city and everyone knows it: layered Talos garrisons, gun emplacements, drone swarms, and a lockdown that turns the summit into a fortress. Getting up the hill is a war; the last climb is up exposed masts in a killing wind, every metre watched, with the full weight of Vivid's security waking up beneath the Crew's feet.
The Twist: The instant the Crew touches the master relay, the whole city feels it, and the whole city's enforcement converges on one hill with everything it has, because losing this is losing everything. Whatever the Crew came to do here, they do it once, they do it fast, and they do it with Athens watching and Talos climbing, and then they have to get off the highest, hardest, most-hunted rock in the sprawl alive. This is the last act. Make it count.