New Vance City

The Salvage Yard is the mechanical heart of the Gear Rats—an ever-evolving sprawl of smoke-belching conveyor belts, weapon-gutting war rigs, and the relentless grind of scavenger ambition. Here, wrecks are reborn as weapons, and the air thrums with the rhythm of machinery and mayhem. The Rats drag in dead solar crawlers, drone carcasses, and Citadel scrap to be stripped, reforged, and repurposed. Loyalty isn’t spoken—it’s weighed in bulk metal and paid in blood. Overseen by Cog’s brutal enforcers, every part pulled is taxed, every circuit claimed. The yard isn’t just an industrial site—it’s a proving ground, an altar of rust where initiates are baptized in oil and fire. Raiders from outside occasionally trade here, but most just hope to survive long enough to loot the outskirts. When the forge pits roar and the klaxons howl, you know something’s being born—or someone’s being punished.

The Salvage Yard sprawls like a mechanical tumor across the Rust Belt, a city-sized wound of twisted iron and slag. Towering heaps of shredded chassis and warped metal rise like crude cathedrals beneath a sky smeared with soot. Conveyor belts run like arteries between rusting cranes and skeletal scaffolds, creaking under the weight of drone husks and melted paneling. Makeshift gantries—built from tank treads, broken turbines, and reinforced rebar—crisscross overhead, adorned with swaying floodlights made from old solar lenses and shattered headlights. Oil pools around jagged rebar piles, black and bottomless, while forge pits hiss steam into the sulfur-choked air. Rat skull totems and hazard tape bunting flutter on rebar poles, marking the territory of the Yard’s cruelest enforcers. Everything smells of copper blood and burnt circuitry. Nothing sits still. Even the rubble breathes—shifted by tread, claw, or scavver boots too slow to dodge the machinery’s hunger.