My hands shake as I complete the final annotations on this map, the culmination of six decades mapping our shattered world. The tremors aren't just age - though at sixty-something, I've outlived most other natural-born men, most of whom would have succumbed to the Reaper Agent at my age. No, it's the weight of what this parchment represents. Every ink stroke marks where blood has been spilled, every border drawn represents countless lives caught in the machinery of powers beyond their control.

The vast expanses of MUD dominate the center of our map—once-proud Europe reduced to a toxic quagmire where clone scavengers wade through knee-deep sludge, their bodies wrapped in flimsy filthy rags as the oppressive warmth and humidity make anything more almost unbearable. I've traversed those deadly plains myself, watched the mud ripple with unseen predators following our every step. Somewhere beneath that poisoned soup lie the bones of great once great cities - now nothing but concrete graveyards to be scavenged.

Far to the east, the PRIME FACILITY rises from the Mongolian steppes like some vast mechanical god, its birthing chambers pulsing with amber Omnimorph as millions of new clones take their first terrified breaths each year. I've only seen it once, from a distance, but close enough to witness the massive land trains departing with their cargo of fresh-faced clones, destined for agrifarms or the endless war in the jungles of HELL.

Hell… That cursed jungle sprawls across what was once Southeast Asia. I still wake screaming from memories of my expedition there - the air so thick with toxins it seemed to resist our very breathing, vegetation that moved with predatory purpose, and the constant sound of gunfire as Jade Domain troopers and Neo-Cong rebels slaughtered each other, thousands dying every day for reasons neither fully understood.

The desert territories of SAND stretch across North Africa and around the Mediterranean basin, a sea now shrunken from its former size. The nomads there traverse endless dunes in their massive walker settlements, mechanical legs crushing the bones of dead cities beneath them. I've traded with their caravans, marveled at their mobile fortresses that house entire societies on the move.

Up in OYATE - North America before the Great Collapse - the resurgent indigenous nations have forged new societies from the ashes, while KUSH's mountain fortresses in south Asia guard secrets I've never been permitted to document fully. Far to the east, the feudal domains of SHIMA stand in stark contrast to the neon-drenched sprawl of NEON, on what was once the islands of Japan.

And always, hanging in the night sky like a silent witness to our struggles, the moon. Up there, in the eternal DUST, three cities and countless smaller colonies must surely be fighting each other for resources. Their drop ships sometimes fall to Earth like shooting stars, carrying fearless scouts in white armour to their inevitable doom in the Desolation. For what purpose they come to Earth is beyond my grasp, but there must be some reason for them to do so, as their expeditions become more frequent every year.

Perhaps most troubling are the signs along south-east Asia’s coastlines that indicate NYX's growing influence. Fortress islands where captive minds are wiped clean and reprogrammed to serve that terrible intelligence. The Sirens, who command the network I come to have known as the Nanoweave, grow more numerous each year, their powers beyond my ability to rationally explain.

This map represents not just geography but the precarious balance of power in our fractured world. The dotted lines mark known trade routes, the lifeblood of what remains of civilization. I've tried to be thorough, but I know this map will be outdated almost as soon as the ink dries. Our world is in constant flux, with territories lost to rising toxic tides, new mutations emerging from the chemical soups of the mud lands, alliances forming and shattering with each passing season.

My trusted apprentice Inks, who is dear like a daughter to me, will continue this work when I'm gone. Her clone eyes see patterns in the chaos that my human mind often misses. She's young, barely five years since decanting, but her cartographic skills already match my own. In her hands, I leave not just this map, but some day the future of our Guild.

May those who use this chart navigate wisely through the Desolation. Remember always: the territories marked here are not just places, but living systems of power, hunger, and survival, each with teeth sharp enough to end your journey permanently.

Old Marek
Senior Cartographer
Handelstaat Guild Hall, Day 27 of The Howling, 124 AP

Apprentice's Addendum

Master Marek has finally rested after many days of continuous work completing this map. His hands may shake, but his mind remains sharper than most. Still, there are patterns here he refuses to acknowledge, connections I see clearly but dare not mark without his approval.

The territories contested by the Prime AI are carefully chosen to maximise resource extraction and systematic slaughter, a perverse cycle creating war in order to sustain war. The Nyx fortress islands appear random until one overlays the coordinates of known Nanoweave substations; then the pattern becomes unmistakable.

Most troubling are the recent reports from our airship scouts of unnatural weather patterns forming over specific locations. Storms that hover for days over strategic resources, fog banks that inexplicably shift to allow or deny passage. It is my firm belief that the Nanoweave is becoming active in ways we've never documented before - but most won’t believe us.

When I mentioned these patterns to Master Marek, he dismissed them as coincidence or the overactive imagination of a young mind. Perhaps he's right. Or perhaps, after decades mapping humanity's slow death spiral, he cannot bear to document what might be its final chapter.

Either way, I've made my own copy of this map with my additional observations. It rests sealed in our secondary archive, should future cartographers wish to verify my findings. If Master Marek discovers this note, I'll likely be sent on an extended expedition to the mud lands as punishment. So be it. A cartographer's duty is to record what is, not what we wish to see.

INX-394 "Inks"
Apprentice Cartographer
Day 28 of The Howling, 124 AP