Atlantis

The city is drowning. Drenched by neverending flood for months, the streets are closer to a myriad of rivers. Cars and asphalt are long gone below the murky surface. Slowly, but surely, the levels are rising. People flee ever higher, either in the ragged buildings held together by strings and hope or the unflinching high-tech skyscrapers.

Some found refuge in the underground, walling the entrances at street level and trying to find a semblance of normality in the damp tunnels. Some lines are still functional, as long as the power plant holds. But the rain never stops, and the ground is weakening. The city is drowning, and has long stopped struggling.