Beneath the waterfall stands a metal giant.

Once it was a thing of corporate war. Each of its components was designed to come apart and be replaced from oceans of identical replacements. Replace every plank in Theseus' ship and the warp and weft of the wood would be different to those who knew and loved it; replace every screw and fitting in the giant and not a molecule would be out of place. Once it had stood on the surface under ten suns and done battle with its kind.

Now it stands beneath a cliff, water cascading onto its head. Centuries of collected dirt and sediment have built on its boxy chassis, choking networks of reeds and mosses. It has sunk up to its knees in the muddy soil and its white paint has oxidized in spectacular blooms of orange and brown. Trees have grown up around it, their leaves landing on its shoulders and mulching into soil in which new saplings are starting to grow. And finally, its guts have been ripped open, revealing the still screaming and still glowing reactor at its core, casting a baleful orange light over the evening lake.

And up to this giant has been hooked a mad web of electrical cables. Hundreds of them, extending out from the giant in a mad cobweb, spilling into the water and out the side of the pool to where they connect to strings of electrical bulbs. Each cable is connected to endless cascades of lights that run up and down the cliff, up and down the trees, under and over the water, and then splintering out and running over rolling fields to distant houses and communities that draw their electrical power from the sleeping giant's ever pounding heart. 

At the base of the giant's legs, by the waterside, is Actia's shrine. It's an ominous collection of buildings, constructed with the same kind of madcap energy that resulted in the mad spaghetti of cables, none rising higher than the half-sunk mecha's hip. Technomancer masks are visible on the outside, crackling satellite dishes pointed down at the water even though it could not be more than a meter deep at its lowest. The atmosphere is half idyllic and half crazed - similar to the Kun Shrine but without the edge of positive wholesomeness.

Diaofei tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, looking at the scene as it was lit up by the Kun Shrine's headlights. She had her finished molotov cocktail on the counter but it almost seemed to be slipped from her mind now. "It didn't look like this the last time I was here," she said. "It looked... wholesome."