The Collapse

The Collapse

No one agrees on where it began—only where it ended. In the year 2069, the world tore itself apart in a fever dream of panic, infection, and fire. First came the illness: a creeping neural plague that rewrote its victims from the inside out, burning away reason until nothing was left but hunger and rage. Then came the @Shamblers—human shapes stripped of humanity, moving with erratic spasms, their bodies mutating in ways no medical textbook could explain. Cities locked down. Borders closed. Nations turned their guns inward.

In the chaos, power grids failed, food lines snapped, and the air filled with the smell of burning neighborhoods. Communications fizzled into static. Governments lied about “containment zones,” and when the truth clawed its way out, it was already too late. The infection didn’t just take people—it devoured the framework of the old world. Economies shattered overnight. Militaries splintered.

@New Vance City was never meant to survive the Collapse. It should have fallen like everywhere else—its skyscrapers crumbling into the dust, its streets rotting beneath the tide of shamblers. But through desperation, cruelty, and an unyielding will to keep breathing, the city clung to life. Now it stands as a cracked monument to those days of screaming sirens and burning skies. Survivors remember the Collapse not as history, but as a wound that never healed. The infected are still out there, restless in the ruins, whispering the reminder: the end never ended.