GO

The streets of New Land had a way of swallowing people whole, dragging them down into the grime and grit of survival. Here, in the darker corners of the city, the smell of wet concrete and burning refuse mingled with the sharp tang of desperation. Neon signs flickered half-heartedly above alleyways, casting sickly orange glows on the faces of those who walked by — the hustlers, the addicts, the lost. The city had grown from the ashes of the old world, but its foundations were built on the bones of the forgotten.Clarissa stood at the window of the small apartment she shared with her children, looking out over the smog-choked skyline. Her face was hardened, the lines around her eyes deep, the scars of too many years lived in anger and regret. She was a woman who had known pain, and in some twisted way, she wore it as a badge of honor. A survivor. A fighter. Read more