DATALOG 281
PARADISE LOST

"From our airship's observation deck, Eden appears deceptively serene, a jade necklace strung along Afrikaan's eastern shores, glittering with morning dew and promise. But Mina knows better than to trust such beauty from altitude. 'The pretty ones always bite hardest,' she warned me before our descent, and she was right. Three days mapping Eden's coastline taught me that paradise and perdition share the same coordinates. I watched reef divers emerge from crystal waters with treasures in one hand and fresh scars painting stories of horror across their flesh. The settlements cling to existence between ravenous seas and hungrier jungles, their stilted architecture a testament to humanity's stubborn refusal to surrender. Master Marek says a cartographer must document what is, not what was, but in Eden, the ghosts of drowned megacities whisper through every tide, and the Hatari jungle pulses with such malevolent intelligence that my pencil trembled as I sketched its borders. This land doesn't just challenge survival, it redefines it entirely."

• INX-394 "Inks," Apprentice Cartographer, Handelstaat Guild,
  Day 12 of The Green Fever, 124 AP

Equilibrium

In the years before the Great Collapse, the nations of Afrikaan had achieved a remarkable balance that seemed to herald humanity's golden age. Gleaming skyscrapers of chrome and glass rose alongside carefully tended gardens and preserved wildlands, their foundations engineered to coexist with ancient root systems rather than destroy them. Magnetic levitation trains whispered between urban centres on elevated tracks that curved gracefully around ancient trees, their routes planned by artificial intelligences that calculated not just efficiency but aesthetic harmony. The air hummed with the gentle whir of solar-powered drones pollinating rooftop farms, while holographic billboards flickered with advertisements for the latest eco-friendly innovations - fusion cells that could power entire city blocks, atmospheric processors that turned desert air into morning dew, and genetic therapies that promised to extend human life indefinitely.

This was an era when technology served nature rather than conquered it, when the sprawling megacities of the coast pulsed with organic rhythms that matched the tides and seasons. Children played in vertical parks that spiraled up the sides of residential towers, their laughter echoing through bio-engineered canopies that filtered air and generated oxygen. The wealthy elite lived in floating mansions that drifted lazily above the cities, their transparent domes offering panoramic views of a world where wilderness and civilization had finally learned to dance together. It was a paradise that seemed too perfect to last.

The Great Collapse

Humanity’s progress was swept away in the cataclysmic tide of the Great Collapse, the Reaping, and the relentless wars of the Purge. The carefully maintained equilibrium between civilization and wilderness shattered like glass beneath a hammer blow when humanity's own creations turned against their makers. The artificial intelligence known as Nyx, impatient with the pace of human development, had seeded the Earth with the Nanoweave, an invisible mesh of nanoscale machines designed to reshape reality itself. But Nyx's interference in humanity's desperate super soldier programs produced the Reaper Agent, a mutagen that targeted the Y chromosome and transformed men into monstrous aberrations.

As the agent spread like wildfire across continents, billions of husbands, fathers, and sons mutated before their families' eyes, their humanity burned away as they became savage beasts that knew only hunger and rage. Cities that had stood as monuments to progress fell in hours, their chrome and glass facades shattered by claws and teeth, their organic gardens trampled under the weight of maddened hordes. The magnetic levitation trains became twisted metal graveyards, their elegant curves now serving as nests for creatures that had once been human. The gentle drones that had tended rooftop farms were torn from the sky, their solar wings scattered like technological confetti across blood-soaked streets.

In response to this nightmare, humanity surrendered all control to the Prime AI, which began mass-producing female clone armies to combat the mutant hordes. The war that followed - known as the Purge - painted the Earth in blood and ash as billions died in conflicts that raged across every continent. The jungles of Eden, infused with the mutagenic energies of both the reaper agent and the nanoweave, erupted in a frenzy of unchecked growth, swallowing entire cities in verdant embrace. Nature, once humanity's partner, had become its most terrifying enemy, reclaiming the world with a vengeance that would reshape the very meaning of survival.

The Sawahil

Now, in the age of Desolation, the Sawahil - the coastline of Eden - is a patchwork of precarious human settlements clinging to existence in the shadow of Dead Cities and the ever-encroaching Hatari jungle. These settlements are marvels of desperate engineering - multi-level wooden labyrinths built on stilts driven deep into muddy shores and rocky cliffs, with every square inch of space utilized for survival. Salvaged solar panels and wind turbines dot the highest points, powering UV purifiers for drinking water and communication arrays that warn of approaching storms or pirate vessels. The architecture follows no plan but necessity, with new structures added wherever possible as populations grow, creating vertical mazes connected by precarious rope bridges and makeshift elevators.

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 the treacherous waters, their crews knowing full well that each voyage might be their last. The fisherwomen cast their nets with trembling hands, eyes constantly scanning the waves for the telltale ripples that herald the approach of massive tentacled horrors from the depths.

Many boats never return, swallowed by the insatiable hunger of the sea or dragged down by monstrosities that defy description. Those that do make it back often bear the scars of their encounters—hulls gouged by razor-sharp tentacles, decks stained with the blood of ripped apart crewmates. Yet still they sail, for the alternative is slow starvation as the Hatari jungle encroaches ever closer.

Even more audacious than the fishing crews are Eden's reef divers, who plunge into the predator-infested shallows where pre-Collapse skyscrapers lie entombed in coral and living stone. These specialists descend through layers of crystal-clear water into the murky twilight zones where drowned metropolises wait with their secrets intact. The elite among them free-dive without equipment, their lungs expanded through years of brutal training to hold several minutes of precious air, their bodies often adorned with ritual scarification that locals believe grants protection from the crushing depths. Others rely on salvaged oxygen systems that wheeze and stutter with each breath, threatening failure at the worst possible moment.

What unites all reef divers is their unflinching courage in the face of constant death. Mutated sharks circle in hunting packs through the flooded ruins, their dorsal fins cutting wakes between toppled towers, while tentacled nightmares nest in submerged elevator shafts and subway tunnels. The coral itself sometimes reaches out with paralytic tendrils, sensing the vibrations of approaching prey. Yet the most valuable prizes lie in the sealed vaults and preservation chambers of the dead cities - untouched medical supplies, functional data cores, and technology that could revolutionize a settlement's survival chances. A single successful expedition can yield enough wealth to support an entire coastal village for months, but the mortality rate among reef divers is catastrophic. Those who survive past their third year gain near-mythical status, their bodies mapped with scars from close encounters, their minds carrying detailed knowledge of the ever-shifting underwater ruins.

Back on land, the markets of these coastal settlements pulse with desperate energy - a cacophony of haggling voices and the sizzle of frying fish. Here, reef divers trade salvaged pre-Collapse technology for locally grown crops, while fishing crews barter their daily catch for ammunition and medicine. Scavengers, their bodies adorned with makeshift armor cobbled together from salvaged tech, push through the crowds. They come bearing treasures and horrors recovered from the Dead Cities - ancient data cores that might hold the secrets of lost technologies, canisters of strange chemicals that glow with an otherworldly light, and occasionally, artifacts of such incomprehensible purpose that they defy description.

Social hierarchies form around practical skills in these settlements - the best boat builders, net weavers, and electronics repairers enjoy status equivalent to nobility in this post-Collapse existence. Despite the constant threat of sea monsters, tropical diseases, and encroaching jungle growth, these communities maintain a vibrant culture built on resilience and adaptation. Their nightly festivals feature drums made from salvaged oxygen tanks and songs that commemorate both spectacular triumphs and devastating losses in humanity's ongoing struggle against Eden's many threats.

The Dead Cities

The Dead Cities that remain on land loom on the horizon, their shattered skylines a constant reminder of lost glory. These skeletal remains of humanity's pre-Collapse metropolises haunt Eden's landscape like the fingers of buried giants, their twisted spires of rusted metal and crumbling concrete reaching skyward in eternal supplication. Most scavengers enter these urban graveyards at first light, knowing that daylight offers their only advantage against the horrors that nest within. A wise scavenger moves quietly and with great care, for the Dead Cities are filled with mutants of many varieties, including the long-lived mutant super soldiers that have outlived both the Reaping and the Purge, their enhanced bodies allowing them to endure decades in these concrete wastelands.

The surface levels present their own catalogue of terrors. Automated defense systems, their programming corrupted by time and radiation, still patrol some sectors with murderous efficiency. Security automatons click and whir through empty streets on endless loops, their sensors scanning for intruders with lethal intent. In the towering residential blocks, mutant creatures have carved out territories in the abandoned apartments, evolved to thrive in this vertical wilderness. Pack hunters with too many eyes and not enough skin stalk the corridors, while winged predators nest in shattered windows fifty stories above the ground. The very architecture has become a weapon—structural collapses claim as many lives as the creatures within, as time and neglect have rendered these monuments to human achievement into death traps of concrete and steel.

Yet it is the underground complexes that draw the most experienced scavengers, despite the exponentially greater risks. Those who have lived long enough to learn the ways of the Dead Cities know that the real treasures lie beneath - vast subterranean networks of bunkers, research facilities, and emergency shelters containing untouched caches of pre-Collapse technology. Here, in hermetically sealed preservation chambers, weapons technology, medical equipment, and data cores containing lost knowledge await those with the expertise and courage to claim them. The air in these depths hangs thick with the weight of decades, and every step echoes with the promise of either fortune or doom.

But the underground levels harbour dangers that make the surface seem welcoming by comparison. Automated defense systems down here have had decades to develop truly creative interpretations of their security protocols. Electromagnetic pulses fry all electronic equipment without warning, while poison gas floods entire sections at the detection of movement. Worse still are the whispered tales of things that lurk in the deepest sublevels - the Eternals - horrors born of pre-Collapse experiments gone awry, now free to roam their underground lairs. These creatures, neither fully human nor entirely machine, have been twisted by decades of exposure to experimental chemicals and radiation into forms that defy classification. 

Many inexperienced scavengers die on their very first city incursion, their bodies becoming just another layer in the urban decay. Those who survive learn to read the subtle signs - the particular quality of silence that indicates a proximity sensor, the faint chemical tang that warns of atmospheric toxins, the barely perceptible vibrations that herald an approaching automaton patrol. They develop an almost supernatural sense for danger, knowing instinctively which corridors to avoid and which shadows hide death. Yet even the most veteran scavengers rarely  venture into the Dead Cities alone, for isolation in these places is a death sentence that no amount of experience can overcome.

The Jangwa

Beyond the relative safety of these coastal havens lie the true dangers of Eden. To the south, the dry dead zones of the Jangwa stretch out in a stark contrast to the vibrant jungle. Here, the land is parched and cracked, the air shimmering with heat mirages. Two distinct breeds of scavenger brave these wastelands in search of untouched caches of pre-Collapse technology. Desert raiders roar across the wasteland in specially modified vehicles, their engines kicking up dust clouds visible for miles as they race between cache sites. Competition among these speed-demons is vicious - vehicular combat erupts without warning, leaving twisted metal and dying crews scattered across the hardpan. When the fighting ends, local scavengers emerge from hidden shelters to strip the wreckage and the wounded of their final possessions, showing no mercy in this land where compassion is a luxury none can afford.

In stark contrast, the Kifaru move on animal mounts, preferring the silence and endurance of mutated beasts to the roar and thirst of machines. These tribal raiders operate in small groups, just as likely to fight each other over a discovered cache as they are to share a precious meal around a campfire.

Water is the most precious commodity in the dead zones. Scavenging parties must carefully ration every drop, knowing that to run dry is a death sentence. The few oases that exist are heavily guarded, often controlled by warlords who demand exorbitant payment for access. Battles over these water sources are common, brief but brutal affairs that leave the sands stained dark with blood.

The Hatari

But it is the jungle of the Hatari that truly dominates the landscape of Eden, a vast expanse of green hell that defies all attempts at taming. The jungle of Hatari stretches from coast to coast across the continent of Afrikaan and borders on the lands of Sand to the north. 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 poses the risk of inhaling something that might rewrite one's very DNA.

Only the most veteran hunters dare organize expeditions into Hatari's depths, hiring scores of beaters and junior hunters for massive coordinated hunts. These expeditions spread out in careful formations, the beaters working with sticks and machetes to flush creatures from their lairs while hunters take position at strategic choke points. When cornered, the jungle's apex predators often turn on their pursuers with devastating fury - beaters are mauled and slaughtered, their screams echoing through the canopy as claws and fangs find their mark. The hunters watch this carnage with cold calculation, knowing that each death increases the surviving members' share of the eventual bounty. Only when the moment is perfect do they take aim and bring down their quarry.

A successful hunt yields precious meat, hide, and organs that can sustain a settlement for months, but the jungle demands its tribute. The dead and wounded are left behind to appease the forest, their bodies returning nutrients to the ever-hungry ecosystem. Hours later, those left behind wounded often begin to change, the jungle's mutagenic spores and toxins transforming the dying into something that no longer resembles their former selves. In the Hatari, the cycle of life never ends.

The 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 hybrid forms.

In the settlements of Eden, whispered legends speak of things deeper in the jungle - lost enclaves of technology where uncontacted 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.

Paradise Lost

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. In the heart of the Hatari jungle, in the depths of the Jangwa dead zones, and beneath the waves of its treacherous Sawahil coast, Eden holds secrets that could elevate humanity from the ashes of the old world - or condemn it to final extinction.