Greenhaven was once New Hope City’s most exclusive residential district, a quiet peninsula of waterfront mansions, terraced estates, and ultra-modern homes designed to feel insulated from the rest of the city. Wide, curving roads replaced dense street grids, leading past private docks, gated drives, rooftop gardens, and minimalist glass-and-concrete architecture that emphasized light, space, and privacy. It was a place built for people who could afford to leave the city without ever feeling like they had.
When the outbreak began, Greenhaven emptied with surgical speed. Its residents had advance warning, resources, and exit routes others lacked. Homes were abandoned intact—cars left in garages, security systems still armed, lights still cycling on automated schedules. Twenty years later, the district feels frozen mid-exodus. Power and water still function across much of Greenhaven, illuminating empty halls and running fountains that spill into overgrown courtyards. Smart homes regulate temperature for no one, and pools have become green basins of still water and creeping plant life.
Nature has overtaken Greenhaven aggressively but unevenly. Ivy climbs sheer walls, trees split stone walkways, and entire estates have vanished behind dense growth. Inside, some houses remain eerily pristine, while others have slowly decayed under moisture, roots, and time. Streets are quiet and wide, their lamps glowing softly through foliage and mist, creating long sightlines and an unsettling sense of exposure. The infected are rare here, but when encountered they feel intrusive, wandering through luxury spaces never meant for desperation.
Despite its emptiness, Greenhaven is not unclaimed. Hidden within its overgrowth are small pockets of occupation and quiet control, most notably by the Keepers of Haven, who preserve select areas while allowing the rest to remain wild as a natural defense. Greenhaven is calm, beautiful, and deeply unsettling—a preserved ghost of pre-outbreak wealth, where survival depends not on strength or trade, but on remaining unseen and unremembered.