[ WP ] In distant future , Earth have literally been divided into two side . The light sight , where there is still light . And the dark side , where light does not penetrate the region . You are going to explore the dark side . But as you arrive , you found the place is not like what you imagine

As my pod drifted ever duskward, I gazed out the window with a pit in my stomach. In the sky above me was the vast crimson surface of the Sun, stretching from horizon to horizon like a roiling ocean of blood. Below me was the near-blackness of the charred landscape. I knew that the windows were tinted to near-opacity, but the sight was no less surreal for it. Without the protection of this pod, I would look down and see the white-hot glow of the scalding surface rocks. If I looked up, I would be blind. 
 
 Nobody talked much about the night side in Noon City, so named for its place at exact noonside beneath Earth's surface. In fact, other than our own location, not much was known or discussed about our planet's geography at all. Noon City was founded over three billion years before I was hatched, back when the surface had just begun drying up. Despite our best efforts as a society, no written records extended further back than perhaps fifty million years, and even those have been reduced to their most basic sweeping details. Legends remain of the creatures we used to be, hulking behemoths towering thousands or even millions of times higher than our modern forms, flourishing in the rich and temperate atmosphere of ancient Earth. Some of the massive Noon City caverns are said to have been carved as individual rooms some hundreds of millions of years ago, but all traces of the original settlement have long since been torn apart by tectonics. 
 
 The horizon made an obtuse angle with the edge of the red Sun, contracting slowly as I traveled further across the Earth's curved face. I looked at the window opacity reading again: `` ~100 %''. I was n't surprised by the lack of accuracy. These were designed to protect our sight as we ventured closer to Earth's mantle, after all; the Sun was a different beast entirely. 
 
 The city was on lockdown when I hijacked this tunnel pod. This was no different than any other day, or year, or millennium. In fact, surface travel had not been advised in all of our recorded history. It was virtually impossible for us to forecast the volatile inner workings of the Sun to any usable degree, and at this stage in its life, any day could be the day that its surface rushed forward to vaporize the Earth's crust. Nobody talked about what help staying underground would offer when that day came. The surface was barren and useless, and the sunset line was impassable. If we could find any small comfort in pretending there was a plan, then there was no harm in staying where we were. 
 
 I was still trying to unpack my own decision as the pod began warning me of dangerous conditions ahead. A long rectangle appeared on my heads-up display, indicating something in the darkness. I turned on selective opacity, and the area brightened to visibility. Ahead of me was an enormous wall of violently churning clouds, lit orange in the sunlight. Quick flashes of light flickered at random within it. I looked to my left, and the Sun's edge was making a right angle with the horizon. 
 
 This was the sunset line. 
 
 My pod pressed forward into the storm. Turbulence shook me around the cabin, and I strapped into the seat. What was I doing? Why did I steal this pod in the first place? The night side would n't be any better. I was on a planet in the midst of an apocalypse, and it would offer me no escape. And yet, I could n't bring myself to turn back or to slow down, even as great veins of light arced past me in the clouds. Noon City was a place of fear and death, where the threat of the end loomed invariably in the future. It was absurd, building a place to survive comfortably and away from the elements, only to live in constant fear like an animal. If there was any other kind of life to live, I might find it on the night side. And if not, then what loss would it really be to die here, in this storm? 
 
 After what felt like hours of waiting for the worst, the turbulence subsided, and a while after that, the dark clouds cleared. I had underestimated this pod's resilience, I suppose, or maybe the storm posed less of a threat than I thought. I could n't help but wonder how many others had done this and were assumed dead. Where were they now? 
 
 Behind me, the Sun reappeared, still taking up nearly half of the sky. I watched the storm recede as a black smoky haze against its red backdrop, and wondered what I might find on the night side. Was this the night side right now? I was beyond the sunset line, but the Sun was still plainly visible. In my head I had pictured a sky of pure blackness; in retrospect, only a small area at exact midnight could sustain a view like that. Maybe if I could make it there, I could see the night the way I imagined it. 
 
 I spent the next few hours of my journey looking down at the black surface, hoping that once the Sun went down enough, I might see what the cold rocks look like. Even the rock around our living pods in Noon City glowed a bit, and I had never seen them cool down to the point of darkness. Would they still look rough like our rocks? Maybe they would look like metal and glass. 
 
 At five degrees from midnight, I saw the first dome. The reflection of the Sun against its chrome surface was the first detail that I had seen, save for the Sun itself. I could n't believe it! Surface habitation? Granted, it was still heavily shielded from sunlight, but it was something I had never so much as heard of. In the far distance were more domes, and I could tell that they were even larger. 
 
 I continued on, determined to reach midnight and see a sky without a Sun. My view remained red-against-black, with the shrinking sliver of the Sun behind me, and its reflections in the domes that I passed. The domes were closer together now, and it looked as if some of them were been connected. Even with the Sun almost directly underneath me, just barely peeking above the horizon, the window was still nearly opaque. 
 
 And then, after the last sliver finally disappeared, the opacity began to drop. I could make out details in the ground, seeing the orange glow from the Sun's remaining aura on the rocks and mountains. Further still, and the glow was gone altogether. The window was fully transparent now. I was seeing the Earth as it truly was. In a valley near exact midnight, some distance below me, was a dome that was n't like the others. It was larger, and made of glass, and I could see the lights of the city shining through it. This was architecture that never could have been possible in Noon City, and as I flew closer, I saw living pods that opened up to streets, fields, even lakes of water, all open to the air of the giant dome. It amazed me that none of these people knew just how rare their blessings were, that they could look up at any time and see the entire night sky above them. 
 
 I leaned back in my seat to look to the sky. It was nothing like I imagined. I could see all of the other Suns in the entire universe, all so distant as to be little more than pinpoints of light. Many were too far away to even distinguish from each other, all melting into a foggy Y-shaped band that stretched all the way across space, from one horizon to the other. I thought about all of the other planets out there, and all of the people who would look up and see the tiny red dot of our Sun in the night sky; I imagined how they would think nothing of it, and they would n't wonder about when that Sun will die, and they would n't be afraid. I thought about all of this and for the first time in my life, whether it was right or wrong, I felt safe. 
 
 With my seat reclined all the way back, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Later on, I would fly down to the midnight city. Right now, it was time to rest.
