[center][h2][i]Super Classic, ??? Memorial Airport, 8:25 PM[/i][/h2][/center]
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Gates 12 through 16 lined one side of a large, clean, well-lit hallway. Grids of cushioned chairs formed waiting areas for each gate, against a mostly glass wall that provided a nearly useless view out into the night. The other wall held a line of small stores, bathrooms, and lounges with the white tiles of the hallway proper providing walking space for those moving from gate to gate, and stopping at stores in the meantime. At the end of the hall, beyond gate 16, lay the doors to gates 17 and 18 for international departures, and the entryway for international arrivals to reach their connecting flights in the hallway.

The various blinking lights of the runway were all that could be seen through the large windows, the pitch-black night sky not offering even a single hint as to what kind of landscape this so-called "Super Classic" was built on. Out of that night sky emerged the latest plane to arrive at the airport built in memory to some unknown person- for whoever this place was named after had the misfortune of a name so unpronounceable that it came out as a useless garbled sound the few times a tired-sounding woman spoke it over the intercom.

This place, it seemed, was simultaneously lethargic and also too busy to function. Most stores were closed or unattended, employees were scarce and completely absorbed in their tasks, and the smattering of passengers held a similar attitude, being mostly interested in their connecting flights. Funnily enough, not a single person who emerged from the most recent arrival headed for the exit. Super Classic, to all of them, was a no-name stopover.

Most are too tired to think on it, but isn't there something off about all this? Something lurking under the surface of this dull, apathetic place?