Welcome to the New World Order.
The wealthy and privileged live in cities known as Acropolises overseen by a Governor and surrounded completely by towering palisades fortified by a security garrison and double-entry gates. The densely packed suburban area surrounding most acropolises, known as the Periphery, houses the working class, who fall under the gracious protection of the powers that be. The periphery, which has come to be referred to as the Riff, contains all of the factories, farms, and plants that basically keep everyone in the area alive. In spite of this fact, it’s common for people in the Riff to be treated with a measure of disdain by those living within the walls of the acropolis. This even grants them a nice little nickname: riff rats. Seems like a strange setup, right? Why not just say ‘screw you’ and go somewhere else? Well, seeing as these acropolises are spread out leagues apart from each other, no one really has much of a choice. On top of that, the current state of the planet’s biosphere doesn’t lend itself to much travel. Roadways are littered with abandoned vehicles and impassible debris, and railways are smothered with substantial overgrowth. Once thriving and bustling cities and towns are now
dilapidated shells of their former glory.
So what are people even needing protection from? And why so much desolation? Why did humans condense themselves down to a sparse scattering of heavily secured cities? Well, I’ll give you a hint...it’s because of these guys:
Berserkers. Former humans turned to crazed killing machines thanks to a mysterious virus that took out a massive chunk of the population and left utter chaos in its wake. These creatures’ strength and sensory levels are so far beyond normal human levels that no one can take them on without some sort of weapon....preferably long-range. The upside, if it can be called such, is that Berserkers are quite susceptible to sensory overload when presented with the right extremes. Bright flashes, loud explosions, fiery heat, and high pitched screeches can incapacitate a Berserker enough to buy you just enough time to get some distance between you and your impending doom. But, of course, you have to make it count, because these fuckers are fast. Luckily, they can’t stand the daylight, so daytime travel is safe...kinda. I, mean it would be if it weren’t for…
‘You’re shitting me, right?’ No, no I wish I was. Not nearly as many animals were affected by the virus, but enough of them went berserk for it to cause a major issue. And, apparently animals were affected a bit differently, so they’re able to cruise around during the day just fine. So, the planet’s pretty anti-human at the moment. And, yet, the humans still can’t seem to cooperate. By the way, I still haven’t mentioned how the rest of the people live...people abandoned by those living the sheltered life in full protection from the horrors of the Wilds...people like me. That’s right...not everyone gets to live in civilization. We get to struggle while the elite slowly siphon what little resources remain from a planet seemingly determined to reclaim them for itself. But, don’t worry...we’ve learned to adapt. I mean, we are human after all. Those of us forced to dwell in the Wilds have gone underground...literally. We’ve built subterranean shelters called Dens where we can safely keep away from what’s above...which is why we’re referred to as Moles. Dens can range from modest little man-made caves to buried shipping containers to vacant silos to massive underground complexes. Food and supplies in the Dens are fairly difficult to acquire, so the struggle is, in fact, real. And did I mention that the average age for Moles is fifteen? That’s right...kids. Fucking children. Abandoned and left to fend for ourselves. But that’s okay, we got this. Whatever this wretched, savage planet wants to throw at us…
We. Will. Survive.
(And there's much more to this...but I'll wait til I get some interest to go into more details.)