Rotterdam is miserably cold and rainy. Plagued by gentrification and technological unemployment, the harbor city is slowly turning into a desolate, mechanized metropolis.
Secretly tucked away on the outskirts, if you know where to look, there are a few remaining military bunkers. This is where the city’s youth go sporadically to relieve their anger and grief. During these nights, they tirelessly rage to the dystopian sound of Gamma Intel’s slow-burning electro and hypno-acid, before returning to the struggles of their daily lives.
