A few pigeons perched on a beam flew out through a broken widow in a panicked frenzy. The dust disturbed by their exit shimmering like glitter, as it slowly fell through the light to the muddied floor below. Standing at the base of the immense but empty turbine hall I could hear the sounds from the active commuter line just outside. Loose steel catwalk grates shook from the vibrations produced by the train as it quickly zipped passed.

The massive brick walls inside served as an urban canvas for graffiti artists to make their mark, the most daring tagging seemingly impossible reaches, leaving me to wonder how such a feat could even be pulled off. Many of the catwalks and ladders intertwining the power station were rusted to the core, making navigation dangerous, but all the more fun. The higher I climbed up into the industrial playground the smaller I felt. Stairwells and walkways were completely decayed away, only thin metal beams remaining to walk across; a cement casket lined with mud and steel awaited below if I were to lose my balance. Climbing down from the top of the massive lifting hoist, I had to look down and a long way it was.