Cornucopia

The sleek metal of the elevator from which you ascended has been replaced by platforms made of crumbling concrete. Something grand must have once stood here though it has long since fallen to ruin. Not even a hint of what it might have been remains. Looking forward you see a neatly manicured lawn, a sprawling expanse of emerald broken up by the occasional wildflower. You note that narcissus buds are among the most common. A heap of supplies sits below an arching sign, so tall that you need to crane your neck upwards to read the words which are burned into its oak wood: Welcome Home.