dystopian · post-apocalyptic · class struggle · surveillance state · strict rules · aristocracy · poverty · nuclear fallout · oppression
The atmosphere in the Ascendancy's sector carries the sterile scent of scrubbed air and engineered blossoms, a cruel mockery of the chemical tang that hangs over the lower wards. Neon advertisements sputter against the eternal dusk of 2157, painting long, distorted shadows across polished promenades and immaculate avenues. But here, in the lee of a monolithic surveillance pylon, the facade cracks. I linger at the border of the Median Sector, tracking a squad of Wardens as they stamp past, their visors catching the cold glow of artificial light. Their synchronized steps beat a cadence of warning into the pavement. You, you, are a fresh arrival in Valen—by design or by drift, I can't say. But I note the way your gaze inventories the alleyways, the tight readiness in your posture. In this…