I watched as we approached the lunar surface in a docking pod. The tower was a nightmare of spikes and protrusions. It had been designed by the Master of Armstrong City himself and was one of the only ways in or out.
Spikes closed around the pod like the jaws of a prehistoric fish. We were guided into the central elevator of the compartment, which seamlessly descended to the spaceport.
I’d heard that with the pod attached, the tower resembled a rose. But no visual was supplied to the public. The city bloomed only for the eyes of its master.

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