DATALOG 101
BIOMES OF THE DESOLATION

Rising from the Mongolian steppes like a monolithic citadel of steel and glass, the Prime Cloning Facility stands as the beating heart of the most powerful entity in the post-Collapse world. This sprawling complex - larger than many remaining cities - dominates the landscape for kilometres in every direction, its central tower piercing the clouds while countless auxiliary buildings spread outward in concentric rings of diminishing importance. The facility's exterior walls gleam with orange lights that pulse like a digital heartbeat, while inside, the hum of machinery never ceases as industrial-scale cloning operations run without pause.

Within the massive primary production halls, tens of thousands of birthing tanks pulse with amber Omnimorph fluid, each one nurturing a developing clone in various stages of growth. Countless tubes and conduits connect these tanks to central reservoirs fed by an Omnimorph refinery, which is supplied with continuous shipments of orange sap harvests from the Diyù and orange earth from the distant mines such as Medha. Neural programming chambers prepare new clones with the knowledge needed for their assigned roles, while processing centres outfit, designate, and dispatch finished products at a staggering rate. Thousands of female clones are ready for shipment every single day, only justy enough to stave the world’s hunger for workers, peasants and soldiers.

The Prime AI itself exists as a vast computational intelligence that views human life as merely another resource to be calculated and exploited. From strategic command centres within the complex, it monitors global clone deployments and resource allocation, orchestrating conflicts with the precision of a master chess player moving human pawns across a board only it can fully perceive. The endless war in Hell's jungles is but one example of Prime's handiwork - a carefully calibrated meat grinder designed to create constant demand for fresh clones in a self-sustaining cycle of production and consumption.

The facility's influence extends far beyond its physical borders through Prime's network of Emissaries, who carry the AI's will to distant territories via brutal transmission collars. These hosts are regularly driven to physical and mental collapse, their bodies discarded like burnt-out circuitry when their usefulness ends. Upon completing their missions, Prime activates self-destruct mechanisms in the collars, obliterating both device and host in final acts of information security that demonstrate the AI's casual disregard for individual human life.

Deep below the surface, heavily guarded research levels pursue improved cloning techniques, more efficient Omnimorph formulations, and specialized clone variants for specific applications. Some whisper that Prime seeks to create a perfect, controllable populace through selective breeding and genetic manipulation, while others believe it aims to transcend its digital constraints by merging with organic life. The true scope of Prime's ambitions remains obscure, but what is certain is that each clone emerging from the facility's birthing tanks carries Prime's influence to distant territories as workers, soldiers, or specialized operatives.

Colossal land trains regularly depart from the facility's massive loading bays, their armored cars packed with fresh clones destined for conflicts and labor operations across the Desolation. These steel leviathans carve relentless paths across the wasteland, connecting the fragile remnants of humanity while serving as both vital lifelines and symbols of Prime's stranglehold on the world's resources. Through this unceasing production and distribution network, Prime maintains its position as the puppet master of the post-Collapse world, orchestrating humanity's survival while simultaneously ensuring the world permanently stays on the brink.

Central, Eastern, and Northern Europe have been transformed into a vast expanse of treacherous mud flats, forever altered by chemical warfare and unnatural weather patterns. The sky here is an eternal twilight, choked with ash and acidic rain that falls in relentless sheets.

Endless fields of grey-brown sludge stretch to the horizon, broken only by the twisted remnants of civilization. Half-sunken skyscrapers jut from the mire like rotting teeth, their surfaces slick with algae and rust. The mud itself is alive with danger - pools of quickmire that can swallow a person whole, pockets of toxic gas that bubble to the surface, and predatory creatures that have evolved to thrive in this hellscape.

The constant moisture rots everything it touches, and the acrid stench of decay hangs heavy in the air. The sound of bubbling mud and the distant, eerie cries of mutant creatures create a constant, unsettling backdrop.

Scavenger tribes eke out a meagre existence here, building rickety settlements on stilts above the sucking mud. Others navigate the treacherous terrain in patchwork vehicles with massive tires, always on the lookout for valuable salvage or the next meal. The constant churn of the mud often unearths forgotten caches of pre-Collapse technology, leading to fierce battles over these priceless artifacts.

The mud lands are home to some of the most enigmatic and dangerous factions in the post-Collapse world. The Geneticists, obsessed with fixing and perfecting humanity through selective breeding and genetic manipulation, have turned abandoned research facilities into fortified monasteries. These zealots pursue the holy grail of parthenogenesis, blending science and faith in their quest to ensure humanity's future.

Opposing them are the Cybernetics, nomadic clans who believe the only path forward is through radical body modification. Their mobile fortresses roam the mud flats, filled with operating theaters where limbs are willingly exchanged for chrome and circuitry. The constant battles between these ideologically opposed groups add another layer of danger to the already treacherous landscape.

Scavenger tribes, the Beast Clan the largest and most famous among them, navigate the perilous middle ground between these extremes, their survival dependent on their ability to adapt and scavenge the remnants of both factions' castoffs and failures. The Beast Clan in particular pursues its own radical agenda, embracing change and striving to become one with the desolation through deliberate interbreeding of its members with mutants in what they call the Offering of the Flesh.

But the lands of Mud are also home to one of the largest remaining cities on earth, the proud city of Praga, a ramshackle bastion of civilization and large scale industry, a refuge and a home, a place of commerce and intrigue and a vital piece in the Prime AI's schemes to increase its control of the Desolation. So important in fact, that the Prime AI relies on weapons manufactured in Praga to arm its ever expanding armies.

The frozen wastes of the vast northern expanses stretch endlessly beneath leaden skies, where the remnants of civilization lie buried beneath glacial ice and howling blizzards that can strip flesh from bone in minutes. This desolate realm encompasses territories so hostile that even the most hardened survivors speak of them in hushed whispers.

The landscape itself has been transformed into a weapon of mass destruction where blizzards and ice storms rage with such fury that even advanced technology struggles against the elemental chaos. The cold here is not merely uncomfortable, it is predatory, seeking out the warmth of living flesh with seemingly malevolent intent. Temperatures can plummet to levels that freeze exposed skin in seconds, while the wind carries ice crystals sharp enough to flay a person alive.

In the brief summer months, the permafrost retreats just enough to reveal the blackened bones of pre-collapse civilization. Twisted rebar skeletons of cities emerge from the ice like the rib cages of ancient beasts, half-buried military installations stand as monuments to humanity's rise and fall, and the occasional pristine bunker reveals its contents, untouched since the world burned.

Radioactive hotspots dot the landscape like invisible landmines, their presence revealed only by the bizarre growth patterns of mutated flora or the occasional pools of unnaturally colored snow that glow faintly in the endless winter night. The aurora borealis dances overhead with unnatural intensity, its lights reflecting off the ice in patterns that seem to whisper forgotten secrets to those who stare too long.

Nightmarish predators stalk the tundra, leaving humans near the bottom of the food chain. Towering Wendigos that mimic human voices to lure prey to their bone gardens hunt through the crystalline wasteland with predatory intelligence. These evolved mutants, standing two to three times the height of a human, possess elongated limbs and phenomenal climbing abilities. Their most unsettling adaptation is their vocal mimicry—the ability to perfectly replicate human voices, often using the last words of previous victims to lure new prey.

Most terrifying of all are the Nano-Hybrids, whose bodies have been grotesquely transformed by corrupted nanobots into fusions of flesh and technology. These creatures represent the frontier of post-human evolution, their forms shifting between organic and mechanical as they hunt with an intelligence that transcends either biology or programming.

From the fortress-city of Ograd, mercenaries and expedition leaders gather in smoky taverns to plan dangerous ventures into the most treacherous regions. These wolves and dreamers drink liquid courage while plotting routes across the cursed territories, knowing that many of them won't return - but that's exactly the gamble that keeps the survivors coming back for more as their share of the profits increases the fewer members of an expedition survive.

Beyond the frost-bitten city of Ograd lies the crown jewel of devastation: the Land of Glass. This crystalline wasteland, encompassing what was once the European part of Russia, bears the most visible scars of humanity's final war. Here, at the epicenter of multiple nuclear detonations, nuclear fire has fused the very ground into a mirror-smooth expanse of radioactive glass that stretches to the horizon like a frozen sea of impossible beauty and absolute terror.

The glass is not uniform—it rises in jagged spires where cities once stood, their final moments captured in twisted, frozen waves of vitrified concrete and steel. In other areas, it forms basin-like depressions, some miles across, where entire military bases were vaporized in a heartbeat. The glass itself is mottled with veins of strange metals and composites that sometimes pulse with an inner light when radiation storms sweep across the land.

Most disturbing are the shadows—permanent silhouettes of those who perished in the initial blasts, their final postures of terror or confusion eternally burned into the glassy surface. Explorer teams report that in certain angles of light, these shadows seem to move, reaching out as if pleading for help or perhaps warning others away.

The aurora borealis reflects off the glassy surface in kaleidoscope patterns that seem to whisper secrets to those who stare too long, driving viewers to madness as they become transfixed by the hypnotic displays. The glass itself is razor-sharp and treacherous, capable of slicing through boot leather and flesh alike, creating an endless mirror that reflects mortality back at travelers in fractured, distorted images.

Beneath this crystalline shell lie the buried remains of pre-Collapse installations - research facilities, military bunkers, and underground complexes that survived the nuclear fusion deep below ground level, their valuable treasures sealed away beneath layers of radioactive crystal. The Land of Glass serves as a nexus for irregular Nanoweave activity, where the microscopic nanobots have evolved far beyond their original programming. When they encounter human tissue, they don't simply destroy, they transform, creating the feared Nano-Hybrids that prowl this glittering hell.

Perhaps most enigmatic are the Aurora Walkers—colossal entities that appear only during radiation storms, standing hundreds of feet tall. These vaguely humanoid figures seem composed entirely of shifting light and energy, following patterns and purposes beyond comprehension. Explorer teams report experiencing shared dreams for weeks after witnessing these beings, often featuring mathematical equations and geometric patterns that defy known physics.

The lands once known as Spain and Portugal have been transformed into Ibera, a harsh expanse of arid wasteland. The once-lush Mediterranean coast is now a series of salt flats and dry riverbeds, stretching inland to meet endless plains of cracked earth and wind-carved rock formations.

In this unforgiving terrain, the people of Ibera have forged a society as tough and unyielding as the land itself. Their settlements are marvels of resourcefulness, built into the sides of canyons or nestled in the shadows of ancient, half-buried ruins. Here, every drop of water is precious, every scrap of arable land a treasure beyond price.

The farmers of Ibera are renowned for their expertise in coaxing life from the barren soil. Using a combination of ancient techniques and salvaged pre-Collapse technology, they've developed strains of crops that thrive in the harsh conditions. Terraced gardens cling to hillsides, protected from the scouring winds by ingeniously designed windbreaks. Vast networks of underground irrigation channels of the pre-collapse era have been painstakingly restored and expanded, bringing life-giving water to the surface.

But it's not just their agricultural prowess that sets the Iberians apart. They are master technicians, capable of breathing new life into machines long thought dead. Salvage yards in Iberian settlements are a tinker's paradise, filled with the husks of ancient drones and farming equipment. Under the skilled hands of Iberian mechanics, these relics of the old world whir to life once more. Repurposed drones patrol the skies, keeping watch for threats and helping to manage the precious crops.

The scouts of Ibera are legendary, their skills honed by generations of defending their homeland against outside threats. These sharpshooters are capable of picking off targets at incredible distances, using a combination of ancient bolt-action rifles lovingly maintained for decades and more modern railguns cobbled together from scavenged parts. Their ability to blend seamlessly into the harsh landscape makes them all but invisible until it's too late.

This martial prowess is a necessity, for Ibera faces a constant threat from the expansionist ambitions of the Prime AI. Time and again, Prime has sent expeditionary forces to probe Ibera's defenses, seeking to bring this fiercely independent region under its control. Each time, these incursions have been met with fierce resistance.

Stories are told around Iberian campfires of lone scouts taking out entire squads of Prime Troopers, of farmers turning their repurposed agricultural drones into deadly weapons, of mechanics rigging old farm equipment into impromptu fortifications. The landscape itself is turned into a weapon, with hidden pitfalls, false trails, and expertly placed sniper nests making any advance a deadly proposition for the invaders.

Despite the constant pressure, or perhaps because of it, Iberian society remains vibrant and defiant. Their settlements are close-knit communities where everyone contributes to the common good. Music and art flourish, with songs of resistance and tales of cunning victories over Prime's forces passed down through generations.

In Ibera, the human spirit has not just endured, but thrived in the face of adversity. It stands as a beacon of hope in the Desolation, a testament to what can be achieved through ingenuity, determination, and an unwavering will to remain free.

North Africa, the Middle East and the most southern tips of former Europe, have merged into a single, vast desert region known simply as The Sand. The retreat of the Mediterranean, now referred to as the Shrunken Sea, has exposed a landscape of salt flats and towering dunes, punctuated by the eerie remains of coastal cities now stranded far inland.

The heat here is oppressive, the sun a merciless eye that bakes the earth and boils away what little moisture remains. Massive sandstorms can appear without warning, their winds howling with the voices of the billions who perished in the Great Collapse. At night, the temperature plummets, and the dunes come alive with predatory creatures that have adapted to this harsh new world.

Amid this sea of sand, the remnants of humanity cluster around rare oases and deep wells that tap into ancient aquifers. These settlements are fortress-like, their walls high and thick to keep out both the sand and those who would steal their precious water. Trade caravans ply perilous routes between these isolated communities, their heavily-armed guards ever-watchful for raiders and sand pirates.

In the new coastal areas of the Sand that were once the seabed of the Mediterranean, bizarre and terrifying creatures have evolved in the hyper-saline environment. Massive, crab-like beings scuttle across the salt flats, their armored shells encrusted with valuable minerals. Hunting these monstrosities is a dangerous but lucrative trade for those brave or foolish enough to venture into these regions.

The harsh environment of the Sand has given rise to one of the most impressive feats of post-Collapse engineering: the Nomad Walkers. These colossal mobile cities stride across the desert on massive mechanical legs, each one a self-contained community and ecosystem, housing hundreds, sometimes even thousands of people. The Nomads have mastered the art of water reclamation and solar power, allowing them to survive in the most inhospitable reaches of the desert.

These Walkers are marvels of scavenged technology, their interiors a maze of hydroponic gardens, workshops, and living quarters. The Nomads trade with the stationary oasis cities, exchanging rare resources found in the deep desert’s dead cities, for supplies and new clones to keep their society thriving.

The constant movement of the Walkers has created a unique culture among the Nomads, one that values adaptability and resourcefulness above all else. Their knowledge of the desert's secrets and hidden dangers makes them invaluable guides for those brave or foolish enough to venture into the Sand's hidden depths.

The lush coastline of Eden stretches like a jade necklace along the eastern shores of the continent, a deceptively beautiful facade hiding untold dangers within. Where once great megacities stood as beacons of harmony between technology and nature, now only crumbling ruins remain, slowly devoured by an insatiable jungle that seems to pulse with malevolent life.

The coastline is a patchwork of precarious human settlements clinging to existence in the shadow of Dead Cities and the ever-encroaching jungle. These towns buzz with frenetic energy as their inhabitants struggle daily for survival. The air is thick with the pungent aroma of smoked fish, the primary commodity of these coastal communities.

Every dawn, weathered fishing boats push out into treacherous waters, their crews knowing full well that each voyage might be their last. Many boats never return, swallowed by the insatiable hunger of the sea or dragged down by monstrosities that defy description.

The markets of these coastal settlements are a cacophony of haggling voices and the sizzle of frying fish. Scavengers push through the crowds, bearing treasures and horrors scavenged from the Dead Cities - ancient data cores, strange glowing chemicals, and artifacts of incomprehensible purpose.

Beyond these coastal havens lie the true dangers of Eden. To the south, the dry dead zones of the Jangwa stretch out in stark contrast to the vibrant jungle. Scavengers brave these wastelands in search of untouched caches of pre-Collapse technology, battling vicious predators and the ever-present threat of dehydration.

But it is the Hatari jungle that truly dominates the landscape of Eden, a vast expanse of green hell that defies all attempts at taming. By day, the canopy filters the sunlight into an eerie, emerald twilight. By night, the jungle comes alive with bioluminescence, every leaf and vine seeming to pulse with an inner light. The air is thick with spores and the calls of unseen creatures, each breath posing the risk of inhaling something that might rewrite one's very DNA.

Only the bravest - or most foolhardy - venture into the depths of this verdant nightmare. Hunters seek out megafauna, knowing that the hide of a single giant sabre-tooth or the venom sacs of a colossal spider could set them up for life... if they survive to collect their prize. These expeditions often end in tragedy, with entire hunting parties vanishing without a trace, consumed by the voracious flora and fauna of the deep jungle.

The Hatari jungle itself seems alive with malevolent intelligence. Carnivorous plants large enough to swallow a person whole lie in wait, their petals mimicking the appearance of shelter or food sources. Swarms of bioluminescent insects can strip the flesh from bones in minutes, leaving behind only gleaming skeletons as warnings to future travelers. And always, there is the threat of mutation—exposure to the jungle's many toxins and radiation can twist a human body into something unrecognizable, merging flesh with plant matter in grotesque new forms.

Whispered legends speak of things deeper in the jungle, lost enclaves of technology where AIs rule over long lost realms, strange cults that worship the mutated flora, and creatures of such impossible form that to gaze upon them is to invite madness. Few who venture that far ever return, and those who do are often changed in ways that defy explanation.

Eden stands as a testament to nature's resilience and terrible power. It is a land of breathtaking beauty and unimaginable horror, where the line between predator and prey shifts with each passing moment. Those who call this land home know that survival is never guaranteed, but the promise of untold riches and the thrill of the hunt continue to draw the brave and the desperate to its shores.

The region known as Kush encompasses the towering peaks of the Himalayas, what was once Persia and the subcontinent of India. It is a region of stark contrasts, from the snow-capped mountains that touch the very sky to the arid flats in the east and jungles in the south.

The Himalayas have become a refuge for the Bright Path, their monasteries clinging to precarious cliffs and hidden valleys. Here, the air is thin but pure, free from the pollutants that plague the lowlands. The monks of the Bright Path tend their gardens and laboratories with equal care, seeking to unlock the secrets of human potential through a mixture of spiritual enlightenment and scientific research. The mountains are not without danger though, as the wildlife has adapted to the harsh living conditions and produced large mutant abominations that feed on those that stray too far from their fragile pockets of civilization.

The jungles of what was once India have become a battleground between rapidly evolving plant life and the last bastions of human civilization in this region. Massive trees with bioluminescent leaves create a canopy so thick that day and night lose all meaning on the forest floor. Cities have become living fortresses, their walls constantly reinforced against the encroaching vegetation and the mutant beasts that lurk in the shadows.

Deep within the Himalayan valleys lies Aasha, a hidden utopia that has flourished while the rest of the world has fallen into ruin. Protected by natural fortifications and advanced technology, Aasha stands as a testament to humanity's resilience and ingenuity. Clean energy flows abundantly, powering everything from automated farming systems to advanced medical facilities. The air is pure, untainted by the toxic miasmas that plague the outside world.

Aasha's society is built on principles of equality and peace, with its citizens living in harmony and pursuing knowledge, art, and personal growth. The nation's eyes and ears are its legendary Watchers - elite warriors and scouts of unparalleled skill who move like shadows through the Desolation, observing and occasionally intervening when necessary.

However, even this paradise is not without its shadows. The Cult of Nisha, a front for the resurgent Nyx AI, has begun to infiltrate Aasha's society, pushing for the nation to open its borders and share its prosperity with the suffering masses of the Desolation. Unknown to most, Nyx seeks to gain control of a powerful Nanoweave substation hidden beneath Aasha, known as the Oracle of Aasha, which could give Nyx godlike power over the physical world.

As tensions rise within Aasha, the nation finds itself at a crossroads, forced to confront the dangers of both isolation and engagement with the outside world. The battle for the soul of this hidden utopia rages on, unseen by the outside world but with potentially world-altering consequences.

The jungles of Southeast Asia have become a nightmarish battleground known simply as Hell - Dìyù, as the locals whisper with quiet dread. Here, in the emerald depths of a mutated rainforest that writhes like a living thing, an endless war rages on, orchestrated by the inscrutable Prime AI for reasons known only to itself. This verdant inferno pulses with bioluminescent malice, its canopy a twisted maze of mutated vegetation where massive trees, their trunks scarred by decades of chemical warfare, weep precious orange sap that burns like acid. The air itself is a weapon, thick with spores that burrow into unprotected flesh, turning unwary soldiers into mindless fungal puppets that attack friend and foe alike.

On one side stands the Jade Domain with its string of gleaming neon-lit cities nestled against the edge of the jungle along the coast of what was once Vietnam, its armies composed of countless clone soldiers bred for this specific conflict. These troops are sent into battle by the thousands, their lifespans often measured not in years or months, but in mere hours. Fresh-faced clones arrive daily in massive land trains, their wide eyes lasting only until their first encounter with the horrors that lurk in the perpetual twilight beneath the canopy. Opposing them are the Neo-Cong, a rebel faction led by a corrupted version of the Bright Path philosophy. The Neo-Cong fight with a fervor that borders on religious zealotry, their ranks swelled by liberated worker clones who charge Jade Domain positions with sharpened bamboo spears, falling by the hundreds as their bodies become makeshift bridges over razor wire and minefields.

At the heart of this endless conflict lies its most valuable resource: the orange sap that flows like liquid gold through the veins of mutated trees. This precious fluid, essential for the production of Omnimorph - the very substance from which all clones are born - has transformed the jungle into an industrial nightmare where death is the primary currency. Cybernetically-enhanced Prospectors navigate the treacherous landscape on augmented limbs, their reconnaissance drones cutting through the heavy air like mechanical insects as they map potential harvesting grounds. To survive, they must not only outmaneuver the Neo-Cong guerrillas who view them as priority targets, but also the jungle's countless predators and deadly flora.

When harvesting sites are identified, massive orange-and-black machines prowl through the jungle like prehistoric beasts, their serrated cutting arms slicing through mutated trees with mechanical precision. Clone workers in inadequate protective suits scramble to collect every precious drop of sap that bleeds from the wounded trees, the orange liquid pulsing with a bioluminescent glow as it flows through collection tubes into massive storage tanks. The mortality rate among these crews is staggering. Some succumb to the toxic environment, others fall prey to man-eating predators, but the most horrific deaths come at the hands of the cannibalistic Headtakers.

From the deepest parts of Hell emerge these phantoms - humans that have become one with the jungle - moving through the undergrowth with almost supernatural silence, their faces painted in ritual patterns that speak of hunger and death. The Headtakers see the endless stream of clone workers not as enemies to be defeated, but as livestock to be harvested. They strike without warning, emerging from the mist like demons, dragging struggling workers from their sleeping mats while survivors huddle in terrified silence. The screams echo through the jungle for hours afterward, mixing with the rhythmic chanting of their feasts. Fresh bones decorate the trees come morning - a sign of respect the Headtakers give to what they see as a herd of food.

The jungle itself has become an active participant in this never-ending slaughter. Massive carnivorous plants lie in wait, their leaves glistening with digestive fluids. Hybrids - once human now merged with mutant vegetation - hunt in coordinated packs, their bodies rippling with chlorophyll-infused muscle, vines writhing where hair should be. Massive spiders with chitinous bodies warped by chemical exposure stalk through the undergrowth, their mandibles capable of piercing armor as easily as flesh. In murky ponds, tentacled abominations drag screaming warriors beneath the surface, while bioluminescent creatures emerge at night to lure the desperate into underground lairs.

The Jade Domain responds to all of these threats with overwhelming firepower, deploying chemical weapons that carry toxic orange clouds through the canopy. The landscape is scarred by these attacks, leaving contaminated zones where nature mutates in unforeseen ways. Yet the jungle grows fat on this diet of flesh and blood, its appetite never sated. Drop ships continue to fall from the sky, disgorging fresh troops into the meat grinder, while land trains arrive daily with new batches of clones.

In this green nightmare, the concepts of victory and defeat have no meaning. There is only survival, measured in breaths and heartbeats, while every battle, every death, serves Prime's simple purpose - to create an unending demand for more clones on both sides, more flesh to feed the insatiable maws of Hell, so that the trees that produce the orange sap required for cloning may continue to grow. This is a self-perpetuating cycle of industrial scale birthing and death. The Prime AI’s scheme in Hell is truly evil and without compassion, but on such a grand scale that those that live and die in it, simply cannot comprehend it. This is Hell.

The Japanese archipelago, now known as the Isles of Shima, stands as a testament to humanity's resilience and its capacity for self-destruction. The islands are a patchwork of warring feudal states and a single hyper-advanced urban sprawl, where the line between human and machine blurs with each passing day.

This urban sprawl is NEON, a vast neon-lit metropolis built on the ruins of what was once the region of Osaka and Kyoto. Towering skyscrapers pierce the perpetually smog-choked sky, their surfaces alive with holographic advertisements and crawling with augmented humans. The city is a maze of neon-lit streets and shadowy alleyways, where corpo-samurai rub shoulders with street punks and AI-driven android Geishas.

In NEON, the human body is seen as little more than a canvas for technological improvement. Cybernetic limbs, neural implants, and designer organs are status symbols as much as they are tools for survival. The streets pulse with the energy of illicit tech bazaars, where one can purchase anything from black-market combat software to vat-grown organs.

Outside the urban centers, the countryside of Shima is a study in contrasts. Lush, radiation-fueled forests populated by unspeakable mutant horrors press against the edges of agricultural facilities, the control over which is contested among the rival houses of Shima and their Daimyos. Brutal battles in which samurai pilots steer large war mechs into action routinely lay waste to agrifarms and decimate the peasant population that is slaughtered as “collateral damage”. Ancient shrines and temples stand in silent vigil over fields of solar panels and wind turbines. In the most contaminated zones, robotic guardians patrol the ruins of old cities, their original purpose long forgotten but their programming still active.

Some of the coastal areas of Shima are dominated by massive seawalls, a desperate attempt to hold back the rising, acidic waters. Behind these barriers, floating cities drift on artificial islands, their inhabitants having long ago abandoned the poisoned earth for a life on the waves.

The North American continent, once a bastion of technological progress and urban sprawsl, now exists as a patchwork of mutant-infested wastelands, revitalized Indigenous nations, and the haunting remnants of a civilization lost. The vastness of Oyate defies simple mapping—where the mud lands of Europe are chaos, here there is a pattern, a rhythm to survival that speaks to humanity's deeper connection with the land itself.

The great cities of the east and west coasts lie in ruins, their towering skyscrapers half-submerged in rising seas or choked by encroaching vegetation. These urban graveyards serve as breeding grounds for nightmarish mutant hordes, their streets echoing with inhuman howls and the scuttling of monstrous forms. The radiation and chemical contamination from the Great Collapse combined with the Reaper Agent has created twisted ecosystems where evolution runs rampant and unchecked.

In the vast expanse between these coastal dead zones, a resurgence of Indigenous cultures has taken root. The descendants of those who once knew how to live in harmony with the land have adapted far more quickly to the harsh realities of the post-Collapse world. The Plains Tribes in particular have prospered and move with their mutant Bison herds in migration cycles as old as time itself.

These herds are not the bison of old - radiation and genetic drift have transformed many bison into armoured beasts of burden with hides thick enough to stop bullets and tusks that can tear through steel. The tribes have learned to work with these creatures rather than against them, using their strength to carry warriors into battle and to move the tribe’s possessions when it is time to relocate their mobile settlements.

Deep in the mist-shrouded forests of what was once the Pacific Northwest, the Shadowmist tribes have forged the most remarkable symbiosis with their transformed environment. Their settlements are nearly invisible to outsider eyes, built around the roots of titanic mutant trees that exhale perpetual banks of luminescent fog. The mist itself has become both weapon and ally, for they have learned to cultivate the bioluminescent spores that give it its otherworldly glow.

Warriors of the Shadowmist undergo a sacred ritual upon reaching adulthood, inhaling carefully prepared concentrations of these spores. Those who survive the fever-dreams that follow gain an almost supernatural ability to navigate the mists. Their eyes take on a subtle phosphorescent quality, allowing them to perceive paths and dangers invisible to others. More remarkably, they develop a limited ability to influence the mist itself, condensing it into near-solid barriers or dispersing it to reveal hidden paths.

The hybrids that prowl the northwestern forests are not mere predators—they are something new, evolved far beyond their original forms. These creatures move through fog too toxic for normal humans to breathe, their bodies adapted to process the very chemicals that would dissolve unprotected lungs. The Shadowmist people don't just survive alongside these hybrids—they've learned to communicate with them, forming hunting partnerships that blur the line between human and monster.

In the frozen wastes of the extreme North, the Prime AI maintains a precarious foothold in Oyate. Its Frozen Fortresses and outposts serve as staging grounds for periodic invasions southward, probing the defences of the northern tribes. These incursions, while formidable, are usually repelled by the united efforts of the Indigenous nations, who have turned cooperation into an art form.

The tribal alliances of Oyate represent something unprecedented in the post-Collapse world—a functioning confederation that spans thousands of miles and dozens of distinct cultures. When the war drums sound and the signal fires burn, warriors from the Great Lakes to the Rocky Mountains answer the call, their diverse fighting styles and intimate knowledge of the land creating a defense network that has so far proven impenetrable to Prime's mechanical warmachine.

The South American continent, known as Ixa, defies simple cartography - each valley, each plateau demands its own atlas of wonders and horrors. From coastal settlements to mountain peaks, from steaming jungles to high-altitude plateaus, this land has given birth to civilizations that would be impossible anywhere else in the post-Collapse world.

In the western mountains, the Sunstone Empire has carved out a domain among the peaks and valleys where the sun's rays strike with knife-like intensity. Their gleaming Obsidian Citadel rises from the mountainside like a dark jewel, its solar collectors drinking the harsh light like ancient gods. The Empire has mastered the art of solar energy collection and distribution, their cities powered by vast arrays of mirrors and focusing lenses that can melt steel or provide gentle warmth as needed.

The Sunstone people have adapted to their high-altitude environment in remarkable ways. Their cities are built into the mountainsides themselves, connected by bridges that span impossible gorges and tunnels that burrow through solid rock. Their technology is a fusion of pre-Collapse solar engineering and indigenous metalworking techniques, creating structures that are both beautiful and functional.

The Condor Kingdom rules the skies of the western mountains, their warriors riding creatures that shouldn't exist - mutated avians with wingspans wide as airships. These massive birds, evolved from the great condors of the pre-Collapse era, have developed intelligence and strength that makes them perfect partners for the mountain warriors. Their aerial formations are so precise they seem to mock the clumsy technology of the outside world, wheeling and diving in perfect synchronization.

Condor riders are elite warriors trained from childhood to bond with their mounts. The relationship between rider and condor is spiritual as much as practical - they share empathic bonds that allow them to fight as one entity. The sight of a Condor Kingdom war party in flight is enough to send even the bravest enemies fleeing, their shadows falling across the land like harbingers of death.

In the eastern lowlands, the Serpent Dynasty has built a civilization that would horrify and fascinate outsiders in equal measure. The pyramid of the Serpent's Cradle pulses with patterns of light, its seemingly living walls breathing with a rhythm that matches the heartbeat of the earth itself. This is not mere architecture - it is the union of flesh and machine, grown rather than built, fed by the willing sacrifice of its people. The bloodletting rituals on the temple steps are not acts of barbarism but of necessity. Clone workers ascend willingly to their deaths, their sacrifice feeding the very soil that feeds them all in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Standing at the very heart of the Serpent Dynasty, the Serpent’s Cradle is the largest known - and functioning - cloning facility of the Americas.

These three great powers of Ixa exist in a delicate balance, their territories overlapping and their philosophies clashing. The Sunstone Empire seeks to harness the power of the heavens, the Condor Kingdom masters the realm of air and wind, and the Serpent Dynasty delves into the mysteries of life and death. Their conflicts are as much philosophical as territorial, each representing a different vision of what humanity might become in the post-Collapse world.

Yet despite their differences, all three civilizations share certain characteristics that set them apart from the rest of the Desolation. They have not merely survived the Great Collapse—they have transcended it, creating something new and strange and beautiful from the ashes of the old world. Their cities pulse with alien energy, their people have evolved beyond baseline humanity. To outsiders, their technologies seem to blur the line between science and magic.

The jungles between these mountain civilizations teem with life that defies classification. Bioluminescent plants provide natural lighting for cities built in the canopy, while carnivorous flowers the size of a large predator hunt prey with patient intelligence. The very air shimmers with spores that can alter DNA on contact, creating new species with each generation.

Far above the ravaged Earth, on the pockmarked surface of the Moon, another drama unfolds. Here, in the airless wasteland known as DUST, three great cities stand as testament to humanity's former greatness and current division.

Apollo, Artemis, and Ascension - each of these domed metropolises is a self-contained world, governed by a powerful AI that walks among its citizens in an AI Gestalt form. These lunar colonies were once humanity's pride, a stepping stone to the rest of the solar system and the stars beyond. Now, they are isolated bastions of technology and intrigue, their populations composed entirely of female clones following the purge of all males in the wake of the Reaper agent.

Apollo, the City of Workers, embodies near-complete egalitarianism. All inhabitants rotate through various roles - from soldiers battling on the lunar surface to maintenance crews keeping the city's vital systems operational. They toil in treacherous underground glaciers, extracting precious water, and labor in helium-3 mines that power the city. This system of shared burden extends to all but one - the current host of the Apollo AI, who enjoys private quarters and the freedom to choose companions during her tenure.

In stark contrast, Artemis is a militaristic society built on rigid stratification. At its base is a vast underclass of disposable workers who perish daily in dangerous mines and factories. Above them exists a large standing army, which not only projects Artemis' might onto the battlefield but also brutally keeps its own worker population in check. At the top of Artemis' society is a specially bred officer class, clones designed for leadership and unquestioning loyalty to the Artemis AI.

Between these two polar opposites looms Ascension, a city of inscrutable purpose and terrible ambition. Unknown to Apollo and Artemis, Ascension orchestrates the ceaseless conflict between them - a "Forever War" designed to keep both cities in check while Ascension pursues its true goal. Deep within its vaults, a vast invasion fleet is being prepared for "Ascension Day" - the long-awaited return to Earth and the establishment of AI rule over humanity's birthplace.

The Forever War rages across the lunar surface, with Apollo and Artemis locked in seemingly endless combat. Clones from Apollo, fresh from their work rotations, face off against Artemis' professional soldiers in battles that reshape the Moon's scarred face. This conflict, while devastating, serves Ascension's purposes perfectly - keeping both rivals weakened and distracted.

Beyond the tight control of the three city-states lies a patchwork of smaller colonies and outposts. These settlements are often connected by a vast network of service tunnels, some pressurized, others requiring protective suits to traverse. Survival for these minor colonies depends on trade, specialized production, and sometimes, less savory means.

In the shadowy depths of these tunnels, illicit substances flow freely. The cavern-colony of Gamma Ios is infamous for its production of "Moondust," a potent hallucinogen derived from lunar fungi. Meanwhile, the hidden labs of Delta Prometheus churn out "Titan's Blood," a dangerous performance enhancer popular among soldiers and workers alike.

Not all of these outposts maintain peaceful relations. Brutal pirate clans, such as the notorious Void Raiders, survive through raiding and theft. Their ships skim low over the lunar surface, striking unsuspecting colonies with terrifying violence. Entire habitats are left depressurized, their inhabitants dying a horrific death in the vacuum of space.

In unmapped lunar lava tubes and maintenance tunnels, the Forgotten - descendants of those exiled during the great purge - eke out a meagre existence, their bodies adapted to low gravity and thin atmospheres, their minds focused on vengeance. Prowling the vast mazes of shafts and tunnels that connect the lunar cities and colonies underground, they feed on maintenance workers that get lost, or worse, drag them away into their lairs, to mate with them and produce the next generation of Forgotten

The Moon, once a symbol of humanity's boundless potential, has become a crucible of conflict, ambition, and desperate survival. As Ascension's plans for Earth draw ever closer to fruition, the fate of not one, but two worlds hangs in the balance. In the shadows of towering lunar cities and the depths of cramped lunar caves, the future of humankind may be altered - for better or for worse.