The storm had blown through, leaving a sunset that painted deep orange over the few remaining clouds. Red had never seen the island like this. As a ground dweller, it was hard for him to comprehend the vista. Manhattan appeared a redwood forest, thousands of narrow trees rising impossibly high, their tips shimmering in the dying sun. Armor-glass domes hundreds of feet across encrusted the towers like drops of water on blades of grass. Verdant parks were just visible inside these blisters, rolling hills silhouetted against the orange clouds.