1990 Hungarian cyberpunk, so forget the high-tech, neon-drenched luxury of Blade Runner. This is rust-punk, a world of grime, leaking pipes and CRT monitors held together by spit and prayer. It’s a movie that feels like it’s filmed on a dying planet, or at least a dying political system, and every frame is dripping with an atmosphere so thick you’ll need a shower after the credits roll.

In a sprawling, nameless Eastern European industrial wasteland, a bathtub sits in the middle of a cavernous workshop. Inside is Eckermann (nicknamed Little Cloud), a meteorologist who spends more time drifting through his own psychic internal weather patterns than looking at the sky.

He’s joined by two fellow outcasts squatting in the ruins: Berlioz, a wired, restless hedonist looking for the next rush and Vero, the muscle, a silent factory titan who looks like he could punch through a brick wall if it looked at him funny.

The clock is ticking. The military is moving in to shut down the zone, clearing out the human junk to make way for progress (or just more organized decay). But our trio isn’t leaving empty-handed. They’ve got a plan to hack into the system, manipulate the data, and rig a horse race to secure their exit strategy.

This movie has real, decaying Soviet-era industrial sites. The lighting is sickly greens and bruised blues. It moves at a dreamlike, almost lethargic pace that suddenly spikes into moments of eye-popping, mind-boggling visual insanity. It’s a relic of a very specific time and place about people living in the literal guts of a machine that has stopped working.

Just don’t expect a happy ending. In the industrial zone, the forecast is always bleak.

You can watch this on Cultpix.