Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. When you see a pit like that in a video game -- the eight symmetrical pathways terminating at it, the green something smeared, just, everywhere -- nothing good is about to happen. Either your ass is about to get tossed down to whatever dwells in there or some alien terror beast is about to slime its way out. Either way, this scene ends with your tender bits marinating in digestive juices. And slowly backing away from it doesn't help, either:
Unless by "help" you mean "induce volcanic puking."
Welcome to the inside of an abandoned energy plant cooling tower, several of which can be found around the globe -- like the one at the Hartsville Nuclear Plant in Tennessee, on which billions were spent before the project ran out of money and was cancelled before the plant ever went online. Now the tower stands dormant, just begging for anyone adventurous enough to explore it or, apparently, scale it like friggin' Spider-Man:
Web shooters and change of underpants highly recommended.
And since this particular reactor was never brought online, you can explore to your heart's content without worrying about sprouting an extra arm or eyeballs on your palms.
Or stubbing your sixth toe on the occasional starship engine left strewn about.
A view like this can have only one logical explanation: That hole is about to puke out a planet-destroying death ray, and you're here to stop that from happening. If you're standing this close to it, you've probably already dispatched the bad guy and dealt your catchy one-liner, so now it's down to cutting the right color wire and interfacing with the mainframe to upload a virus (or something) before you and everything you love end up as pretty colored vapors.
What you're really looking at, however, is Test Cell 3, a jet engine testing chamber at the National Gas Turbine Establishment, or Pyestock. A top-secret industrial proving ground built by the British in 1949 and finally abandoned in 2000, Pyestock is where the real-life Q would work, if Q designed big-ass jet engines and possessed Ridley Scott's level of fascination with pipes.
You just know this place is crawling with xenomorphs.
Even Hollywood noticed that Pyestock was basically a gigantic pre-built movie set. Straight across from the blast nozzle in Test Cell 3 that we showed you above (which arguably doesn't sound much less dangerous than "planet-destroying death ray"), they built this badass, futuristic-looking door especially for the movie Sahara:
And of course, no sci-fi setting is truly complete without the obligatory "walkway to nowhere," and Pyestock's Test Cell 4 has that covered in spades:
It's a special gateway to the magical world of lockjaw.
OK, so geodesic spheres aren't so much futuristic-looking as they are what an average person living in the '80s thought of as futuristic-looking. But this -- oh boy -- this is what the entrance to Epcot would look like if Walt Disney had had an unhealthy obsession with his wang. Because it looks like a giant cock and balls.
Although these days it seems to have picked up a particularly nasty STD.
This futuristic ode to penisness saw its beginnings during the death throes of World War II, when the Battle of Berlin reduced much of the city to rubble. Something obviously needed to be done with all of said rubble before any rebuilding could take place, so the Allies decided to use it to bury a former Nazi technical college.
Not pictured: The uptight Nazi dean who shook his fist and yelled "Allies!" while "Louie, Louie" played in the background.
Once all the detritus had been trucked in and piled up, they had created Teufelsberg (or Devil's Mountain, to us English-speaking folk), and it was the tallest point in Berlin: a man-made hill that was 377 feet tall and contained over 98 million cubic yards of bricks, metal, and scrap from all over the city. Then, as one final salute to the Nazis, the Allies erected a ginormous dong on top of their newly minted hill.
Complete with reservoir tip.
Actually, what you're seeing is a listening station built by the U.S. National Security Agency during the Cold War. Devil's Mountain -- being, as we said before, the highest point in Berlin -- turned out to be the perfect spot to eavesdrop on some Russkies. After the end of the Cold War, however, the day-to-day activities of your average Russkie suddenly became much less eavesdrop-worthy, and the installation was soon abandoned. Exactly what went down there while it was in operation is still classified. Although with machines like this one lurking inside ...
What your appliances have nightmares about.
... we're wondering if the giant dong was really nothing more than a ruse to distract people from the true and nefarious purpose of the Devil's Mountain "listening station": manufacturing Soylent Green.
For more areas where you can live out your nerdiest fantasies, check out 5 Amazing Abandoned Wastelands ... Within Walking Distance and 6 Abandoned Places That Will Make Awesome Supervillain Lairs.
If you're pressed for time and just looking for a quick fix, then check out The 4 Least Anticipated Movies of April 2013.
And stop by LinkSTORM because it's Friday so damn it all to hell.
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