Below the Hab-Stacks the city starts to lose. Old streets, old names, old buildings — all of it sits in black water that never recedes. The Drown is the flooded lower districts: half-submerged towers, rusted walkways just above the tide, and rooms that only stay dry if you pay for pumps. People still live here. Some never left when the water came. Some were pushed down.

Boats, rafts, and stolen mag-skiffs replace sidewalks. Neon reflects off the water in broken pink and cyan shards. The air tastes like salt, rust, and sewage. Corps don’t officially own The Drown, which means everyone else does — gangs, scrap crews, unlicensed clinics, and people who prefer the dark. When the tide is high, whole blocks disappear. When it’s low, you can still see the bones of the cities that were here first.