One of the major contributors to Babylon's not so recent cultural stagnation and decline into debauchery was cited as being the abundance of media showing how people lived centuries ago. Particularly the exciting period of Humanity's brusque introduction to technological advances that they neither understood or respected; the twenty first century and even before that. Babylonians could see people who didn't have access to all the wondrous things they took for granted, yet who were somehow... happier. They danced to music made by individual instruments and not a computer, they relied only on the very detrimental effects of alcohol or crudely synthesised stimulants to fuel the night. These visions of simple ecstasy began encouraging a revival which quickly mutated into something evil and not at all progressive. Clubbers began intentionally harming their bodies with alcohol and plant based pharmaceuticals. Instead of moving music forward and exploring new areas, it got stuck and began retracing its steps every fifty years or so.

That is unless Humanity was always destined to be a low and base creature once the shackles of normal life were unlocked and it was pushed into the dark and treacherous depths of clubs like The Platinum Orbit. Jack was a big believer that peoples never changed and therefore wasn't at all surprised that the kind of futuristic cultural renaissance he had been promised had fallen a little flat. The Lambda Suite was dark, smoky and full of melodic guitar music. Jack stalked between the maze of booths and hot tubs, brushing off the bevy of scantily clad men and women that tried to coax him into compromising activities, arranged like some disturbing tableau for all to see. After several false starts Jack found his way to the correct booth and found his father chatting to several men and women. There were spirits in self cooling bottles, drug bowls giving off a symphony of pungent odours and very few sober expressions to be found. Jack Thegn Senior was sitting at the very opposite end of the booth, half shrouded in darkness. He had a cigar the size of a baby's arm hanging from his mouth and a buxom beauty a quarter of his arm sitting on his lap sipping a century old Krug.

Jack had to push a glass onto the floor to get his father to notice him. It smashed quietly, drowned out by the music; but his dad seemed to notice the glassware's plea for help and looked round, his eyes boring into Jack. His smile, when it finally appeared, was like an explosion of white, filling Jack's eyes. Pulling the baby's arm out of his mouth and balancing it between two fingers, he gestured his son forward. "Junior! Good of you to find time to make your way here." Jack ground his teeth. "Can i talk to you for a second, you sadistic fuck?" Senior jumped up, feigning shock. "My own son, calling me a sadistic fuck!" He paused for dramatic effect like brilliant men had for millennia before him. "What have i done now i wonder..." He mused, inciting a barrage of raucous laughter from his entourage as he began squeezing past them to his waiting offspring.